her face was a
dali painting of
last night's ket sesh
with a cigarette
tucked over her ear
and a nose piercing like
one of those hipsters
no in fact she was
one of those hipsters
an oversized t-shirt
that had dried puke
dribbled down the front
covered her belly fat
it said 'feminist' in
block capitals
I guessed she was
at the art school
or doing a degree
in literature
and I didn't bother
in asking
or wanting
or anything more
while a pigeon was eating
last night's leftovers
dinner meat n chips
This poem was previously published in the chapbook 'The Streetlights are Beckoning Nirvana' (Analog Submission Press)