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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.

6 comments:

ıǝɹɯɐı said...

this is beautiful. poignant and mysterious and chilly at the same time. wish i could write like this :)

mapstew said...

I think I know him!

Good to see you back! :¬)

xxx

Anna Russell said...

Thank you, I appreciate that.

Hi Map! Good to see you :)

Star Kicker said...

She's back! yay!

Miranda said...

Glad to see your blog back on my followers box! How honest this is, like many of the other things you write.

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