Poem 11
Not written for anyone in particular – but the kissing is true enough, it was Kawaha Point on Lake Rotorua …
( I like the flood of Indian blue, breakfast in separate cities and the word fishtailing … )
Your First Marriage
There's a man revving a rotted Holden outside all your dreams you're fading off his skin like a trick tattoo in the shower a flood of Indian blue both of you get up now and breakfast in separate cities he was a boy with a hot car and you had a hot heart for him to blow on kissing in trees by a lake until blood streaked your teeth you'll have another an easier man for your middle age and women friends for after that but your youth ploughs on through the night in the shape of a station wagon primer and rust left back door inoperable and the boy you married first so inelegantly snaps his shades down before the tinted sunset plays an old tape wheel held in two fingers you gathered in under his stupid reckless arm out there somewhere your first marriage still takes the corners too fast fishtailing brake lights flashing and vanishing in a summer night on a beach road