Breadcrumb #49

KATIE LEWINGTON

I.

why do people talk about the walk of shame
walk of shame?                     

I aim my foot and boot him up the bum
pushing him further away
                            off of the bed

dawn, the orange juice stain
splattered on the window
blaring like a siren
coming through the curtains

with lipstick kisses stamped on his cheeks, stubbled chin and clawed back
pulling on joggers
he slips on sandals

<those are mine!>

he sets off to face —
                    the gallows
chop it off!
the neighbors, I mean to face the neighbors

to walk the walk
                  to the corner shop,
                       bacon and eggs

I need breakfast before I leave here.

II.

they aren’t mine, nor yours
or the other woman’s, nor the traffic wardens

stray hairs drift
                   attach to coat sleeves
                                   tight knees

pick them off,
                   let them drop
                   like stray leaves

walk through them, over them
not wonder which tree
                             they came from

where do they belong

will their journey end

is there a stray hair heaven
                                         somewhere 

III.

fucked up lips, swollen gummy
flesh rocky scabby tight tender
stitching 

don’t pick, they scar 

these noxious sores
of evil glee and loathing 

5 days a tube of cream
a wrecked pen caused by piercing the silver foil

no clear sky yet, cloudy, wet
I remain unkissable
               unapproachable
a leper

a dotted decoration
fucked up shrinking lips
wrinkled, creased
adornments
like a president in ambition
                    handing out a
                              very weak
                              manifesto
to the people 

these cold sores so powerful 

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