Wobbling the old bony chair across the gnarly floorboards
Kass, taking down your bandana, rolling your left pant leg up
Unworried, now, about budgeting tobacco crumbs,
bumpuffing brazenly in a house of weeds up to your waist
and ancient tins with tongues of stiffened paint
Kassandra. 80 kgs of abandoned meat. I’m not bein mean,
but you look like a boxing bag, hanging from the creaking ceiling, the chain tinkling.
A trickle of piss drops on the white knots of your High Tops
You laced them just-so, a precise bow between your swinging feet.
Kass, man, admit it, suck it up – Every kid in school heard the beam break,
Your mum’s empty bucket lungs.
Kick back, chillax, everyone that has a kid gets that fat.
Forget about the seven bucks, I was jokin, Kass.
What’s it like to swim into space?
Can ghosts guess people’s passwords? I need you to do me a solid:
Go into this girl’s inbox. Find out why she done it.
I tried to ask your brother at the tangi, oi,
James, he used to seem so scary; now he’s soaked in water, body heavy.
I tried to seize his arm, cold and floppy, couldn’t shake his stunned anvil hand.