May 2003 / Volume Four / Issue Two
Joy Reid
Point of View

The blonde duck bill pegs

snip sodden clothes succinctly.

No arguing with these snappy types

they affix with tumour tenacity

perch

blatant as last year’s bean crop.

Five pegs

are plugged into my mouth.

I am a power board tempting overload.

I am a round hole into which many pegs may be shoved.

Cut.

New point of view.

Now I see

I wear an apron

a spinnaker restrained by a bow.

Cut.

Zoom in.

Close up. Tilt down.

My nape is dark

damp-shiny with perspiration.

Arteries and tendons snake up,

one ear curls

a sleeping cobra.
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