The dappled shallows

They’ve put a waste pipe in the middle of our feeding grounds.
“They” is the humans. The waste pipe is their collective arsehole.
I know what it is because the dolphins called a meeting.

I want to swim with my shoal in the dappled shallows and chase the little fish.
I want to dance with a partner and lay the eggs somewhere safe and flit away.
I don’t know how to do anything more and I don’t want to have to learn.
I want to swim, swim, swim with my shoal and breathe delicious water.

But they’ve put a waste pipe in the middle of the dappled shallows.
The water is grey and smells like death and I don’t
know what to do. The dolphins don’t know, either.

First published in Creatrix 38, September 2017


At 3am. The messages.
Something about coffee.
A while later,
a disclaimer. Coffee
means coffee.

What did he want?

Probably nothing.
Probably he types his message
looking at my Facebook with his cock in his hand
then after he shoots,

To hell with that.

But coffee?
Three or four dollars a cup.
Much cheaper than loneliness.
You see it everywhere.
I told him Fridays were good.


he’s doing now
do you think he’s
having good coffee?

First published in Creatrix 38, September 2017

A man on the train

A man on the train
I’m opposite him

A sagfaced man
     who must once have been fat
A man perhaps forty
     with thinning dark hair
     a rough laugh
     and a phone to his ear
A man in black sunglasses
     on this grey day
A man whose open shirt lapels
     frame a small show
     of dark body hair
     on wan skin

A man who has known violence
I see that somehow in the way he sits

A man wearing terrible broken sneakers
     with a well-pressed suit
I don’t ask myself why

First published in Tamba