Turn Left at the Roses

The ruby-throated hummingbird can fly

For twenty-hour trips without a rest by

Doubling their fat with bonbons with larks,

And we can’t seem to leave where our car parks

 

To complete those two hundred thousand yards

In our lap of the hidey-hole shipyards

Before your rehearsals this year begin

And the makeup girls take away your chin. 

 

And would you remember the drunk tank pink

In the scar that healed from the icy rink

On the left turn of your cheek from habit?

It is the same colour in my Pink Rabbit.

 

And the beaches clumping under the bridge,

Cracking up when we stopped along the ridge

As you crawled out with one elbow and toed

A bramble leant across the winding road.

 

Since we cursed the town for its cobalt eyes

And the teeth it took from the butterflies

The light has a way of skipping our house,

Making it tough when I untie your blouse.

 

And riding the sky is a happy sun,

Your lips were scarlet, and my smoke is spun

From a similar shade of country red

As our little sports car locked in the shed.

 

Written by Jacob Horrocks

Art by Olivia Mannella

You might also like

---

More from Edition 38

---

Editor Picks

---