Hebe Fryer

butterfly, drowning in its own sugar water

july snaps at my ankles

i find a crushed cappuccino cannoli 

at the bottom of my bag and 

eat it waiting for the bus

time is moving faster and 

they’re discovering new numbers every day so

i microwave some chicken dumplings and 

paint a butterfly, drowning in its own sugar water

i sit by the heater; he plays guitar 

until my eyes grow heavy 

sapphire sky, spitting

roach smouldering in the drain 

Homing

The evening has melted into night and

A man in a bird costume looms over me

He stands six foot three at the end of a hornbeam branch 

Which bows beneath his weight

His eyes are glassy and loll around his big bird head 

He is God-like in the gloam

I worship him

I venerate him

I long to launch rocks at him

Watch as he loses his footing and winds himself on the earth 

Open him up wholly until my hands latch onto the man inside the bird costume 

Drag him out from the stained, syrupy plumage 

And warn him

Don’t you ever fly away again