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Words by Rhea Bhaghat

Brunswick

Last dregs of summer,
Scorching soles, shrivelling souls,
Roadkill’s reeking rot.

Buzzing flies, shattered eyes,
Float to the top of my cup,
Melt into froth.

Club X Catholics,
Churches and Crazy Horses,
Fifty degree hellfire.

Dreams of dollar shops,
Dashboard Buddhas, seeing eye charms,
‘Gifts from the Orient.’

Shopping mall astrologer
(two dollar tarot cards/palm reading)
predicts the apocalypse.

The man with DD’s asks
me for some ramen noodles.
He’s from out of town.

Pit stains on the train,
Bogan sweat seeping down my spine,
Eskies and stubbies.

‘She’s a solid eight!’
Buzz cut schoolies, VB slabs,
‘Oi! Let’s get fucked mayte!’

ICE CREAM! sluuurp, drip, drip,
Peeling sunburn and chafing thighs,
Stale air, blinding glare.

 

Fitzroy

You shave in the bath,
Mould rings, floating pubic hair,
Razor burn/carpet burn.

No door, sticky floor,
Graffiti penises &
‘L.V. is a whore.’

Bikini body,
Trellises of underarm hair,
Deodorized despair.

Playing a tune on
My xylophone vertebrae,
Bare under the glare.

Oil slicks coat fingers,
Condoms smell like gloves we used
in Chemistry class.

Chatroulette regret &
Duck face fornication, Cosmo sex.
This is different.