Fruit flies

Her teeth shone, whitened by commercial paste,
but no whiter than the briefs she wore,
eyes that closed too many deals and before the ink was dry
closed several more.

To tell me is to make me and
if I make a new strategy
you will see that
then not tell me,
so my strategy
is silence

But I keep a knife in bubblewrap to cut the crap
you feed me then I find it’s me that needs you
and that you don’t give a shit.

Yes
I read you in the porno mags

old men smoking older fags
with chins that sag and cheeks
that droop
those
eyes that snoop across the
counter of the local shops
where
nothing stops the business
of the day.

© 2017, John Smallshaw.