I was a bad mother in the mensroom at IKEA
weeping with a split lens and Isaac Hayes
piping through as part of a
swedecorp / blaxploitation conspiracy to
massage the over 35s onto a
plateau of associative cool
My tearful demeanour, my suspicious vial
an untidy spectacle of tissues
scrunched and
tapwater puddled, attracts
a disapproving glance
from a functional urinal user
Shaft concludes and puts a swagger in my stagger
darker, blinder
growling for meatballs
and a bookcase in beech veneer
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