at the sink

She’s at the sink pointing her finger at me
half turned away from the pile of dirty dishes
white camisole over rainbow striped panties

She’s looking down the barrel of her arm
aware that I’m staring at her bum and thighs
smell of bacon fat congealing under the grill

She’s not smiling with either mouth or eyes
dark roots shadow her bleached blonde hair
static pupils beneath eyebrows and fringe

She’s standing with her belly pushed forward
I’m sat at a kitchen table in a high-rise flat
sun breaking through inner city clouds

She’s not going to say anything until I do
the hot tap drips into a red plastic bowl
there’s a bite mark on her right buttock

She’s got that ‘last night’ look on her face
remnants of mascara and red lipstick
yellow egg yolk varnish on her toe nails

She’s tilting her head slightly forward
taking aim and waiting to pull the trigger
this is how each day begins and ends

3 thoughts on “at the sink

  1. Pingback: Poem of the Week | slideaways

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