Sport 13 Spring 1994
Fiona Farrell — Earth
There were stars like these
at the Savoy where we sat
hands chocolate smear
waiting for the main feature
when the curtain rippled skyward
and Tammy Tammy Tammy was in love.
I lie on wet grass belly heaving
(the olives probably or the meat
some violent intestinal flux)
while overhead the stars rip
about losing it completely. In
the dark I shit and vomit.
I smear. I moan.
Then your hand strokes my forehead.
Your fingers touch my hair. My
darling you say. My darling.
Of course. You are accustomed to sick
creatures. Cows pigs and sheep. You
muck me out. You tuck me in.
And the sky rolls back from the hills
and here it is: the main feature. I
spit into a bowl and I love you.
Deep as dirt.
Clean as grass.
Sure as shit.
Moo I say.