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Sport 43: 2015

Jane Arthur — Progress

page 173

Jane Arthur


Frightened of sparrows with tiny sociopathic eyeballs, of punkass pigeons skanking at intersections, of forgetting to buy garlic, of a leak in the rubbish bag dripping a rotten fairytale trail to my door, of shelves of unread books, of harems nunneries nurseries aviaries apiaries, of plums being out of season, of Fox News, of all those good people being selfish, of wedding excruciation and hen parties (always of hen parties), of remembering the time we laughed and played charades at New Year and you leaned over to whisper you loved me at an inappropriate time and someone else guessed right, of the scars we give each other, of raw tomatoes, of that chicken chasing me, of the cost of living/the cost of therapy, of bad eggs and bad eggs, of using the wrong word, of fucking again and loving again, of not fucking or loving again, of replaying addiction, of crowds, of making the same mistake twice, of cancer, aneurysms, gangrene, amnesia, sleepwalking, strokes, paralysis, psychosis, locked-in syndrome, blindness, scabies, Parkinson’s, of cousins, of black Brisbane ibises with designs on my brains, of cameras and reality TV, of learning my reputation, of coming clean, of admitting my own prejudices, of—jesus christ—centipedes like legged black rivers, of avoidance and obligation, of humiliation, of bright lights, of going places