DS Maolalai
drunk as a bumblebee
busy at litterbins,
I make my all movements
in honey and glorious
slow. bea is sat
at the new kitchen
table, hugging her shins up
and talking with chrysty—
gui has just gone
to the bathroom. and they're not
my friends really—they're more
chrysty's friends—
I haven't had that much
to tell them. instead
just drank quietly,
listened to talking, until words
become brambles
to kick. there is meaning—
a joke there—I go for it, hard
like a bull at the side
of a bullpen.
make sentences flutter
and drive them as pigeons
go up in a crowd
in a panic.
and chrysty looks down
at the two empty winebottles,
and at me, and my bumblebee
eyes. says baby,
you can go now
to bed if you want to.
these guys will go home
pretty soon.