Pips and the ripe flesh splashing
off the flat of the fruit knife down
S' blurred front Willy turns around
drinking raro her wry common
anglophone thank you trim as a wafer
on the table the old red benchseat 'we
could go to the Sounds' the sight of the bay
out front where we're going
very plain intrigues 'I say halo
let's go to the end of the carpark'.. a sidelight
on the liner's apparent a kind of shirt
lying out past the dash two trim
folds in the notes low major to
minor watched by the car door.
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