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