the line on the map is a fleshy pink

There’s this guy on the metro,
rolling his eyes
like back to the white, like he
could be dead
any minute now.

And he’s swaying, he’s swaying like
he wants to fuck this train from the inside
or at least romance it.

The same words scrawling out of his mouth
sliding over the lino floor in waves
saying something that my tired brain translates as
girls // the sluts // the shit // the death
over and over and over again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Izzy Roberts-Orr is a Melbourne based writer, editor and sound producer. Her poetry, fiction and play scripts have been published in The Lifted Brow, Seizure, Co:Respond and various anthologies. Find her work online or talk to her@izasmiz.

Image by Rodrigo Soldon

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