Sunday

Burmese Days

 



The cicadas were loud that year
stubbed round the house
we pecked at scraps
from a pizza box

I saw the harbour gleaming
like a tooth / the filaments
unravelling
your eyes
in the window
like a wolf

Looting was unforeseen
the infantry
would mop
that up

The integers squared away
the
indigiens sealed
up / in their stupor
plastic box

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