Rude

As though outside under a
charred sky that’s the lifted bun

of a burger that’s like the wet, new road
at night and like the filthy dirt

and the windowless body of a cow
and the frantic kissing

of the competent plants,
their petals bruised and shaky

and so, so nude to your pilfered look –
as is this spit-shone,

rubbed-up stomp inside my bosom.
O egg of stiffening greed.

Mark Waldron
(From The Itchy Sea)

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