Author: Anna Russell / Labels:

He’s filthy

and he has

a bottle of vodka

and a greyhound.

His face is like

a bearded broken mirror

and his silver bitch

is magnificent.

When I look at him

I feel pity.

Pity for myself

that I have to be here,

with the soiled ones

who leer as I go

to buy bread

and cigarettes

even though I’m trying to quit.

Pity that I have live

amongst this shit

and look at gums

where teeth should be

and everything sounds

like a fight

whether it is or not.

He swigs from his vodka bottle,

looks at it

like I look at him

and we both shudder.