Potluck

 

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Three Poems

A Woman Does And Thinks Some Things
 

A woman surveys a treacherous mountain pass in the Pyrenees of France

She considers developing an intense fear of plummeting space debris 

She stands five metres away from the pedestrian crossing until someone else arrives

She doesn’t want to feel solely responsible for interrupting people in cars going places

The woman is on her way to a friend’s place for a craft day

She is nervous because the only creative things she can really do are fun hairstyles

She briefly thinks about how funny it is that male chicks are killed at egg farms because they're useless there, and female human babies are killed in some countries where they are useless

She thinks she knows that she knows more than she can verbalise

She reads questions from Anonymous’ on her fashion Tumblr with mass pragmatic sex murder on her mind

The woman pulls out some of her hair because it isn’t funny at all

She sits on French grass and estimates how many ants she’s killed

She consoles herself with versions of the same fantasy about meeting a famous person who becomes interested in her sexually

The woman answers every question, spending the most time on what to do about the boy Anon likes from school

She throws her to-do list from two days ago into the recycling bin, relieved because she can start yesterday

She buys a three-dollar nail polish and pays the fifteen dollars shipping so there’s something on it’s way to her

Someone falls asleep next to the woman on her train home

She tries to figure out which Wi-Fi connection is his

She doesn’t get off until he wakes up and she boards the first train back

Sometimes the woman wants to be sad and alone because it’s easier

Sometimes she wants to share that moment when the instant coffee granules disperse after trying to squeeze honey into a mug, and only air comes out

Sometimes opening a new tab seems too hard, let alone a new Incognito window

Sometimes when the woman goes to bed her body mumbles obscenities that keep her awake all night

 

 

 

 

Visitor
 

You are coming over I am nervous
I want to spew you say you'll bring wine

I want to say I’m too sick for visitors
You won’t get to see my book collection

I hope your sense of hygiene isn't too profound
You will ask where are your wine glasses?

I’ll be glad I have wine glasses and think
Is that where you would've put them?

You will grab two saying one for you
And one for me I’ll think that’s cute

Then I’ll notice and so will you
The glasses have smudges on them

You’ll pretend you didn’t see them I will tell you
I don't wash dishes very well you won’t look at me

I’ll regret saying that and wait for you to react
You will smile out the window I’ll follow your gaze 

We’ll tip our heads eyeballing greasy stains 
It’s the last time you’ll visit

 

 

 

 

enhance your al fresco dining
 

I suck your fingertips
Just one brief suck

Tongue to nail
Nothing’s tasted better today

We are under the gazebo your dad just bought
We’re inside the gazebo its sides are zipped up

We appreciate the gazebo
It is windy outside

You tell me it’s nice
The heartbeat of the gazebo

Pumping wind and we are
Sort of like the veins

I say no
It is more like a stomach

We are the enzymes and acids
Digesting wind

You say your analogy is more romantic
I agree and you kiss me and I’m embarrassed 

We are at your dad’s house I am trying to appear respectable
You say Dad would want us to make the most of the gazebo

I consider this and nod
He seems like that sort of person

You smile like you’re saying how cute
You learnt something today

And I don’t mind
You can be my teacher 

Educate me inside the gazebo I want to hug you
Constrict you and whisper you are my fuck kernel

Slightly away
From your left ear

Looking at that freckle on your jaw shaped like corn
Regretting my choice of words

 

 

 

 

Alexia Derbas is a writer from Sydney, Australia.