Poem — Miro Bilbrough

Door-snake 

 

Door-snake got rolled. Dumped on the
fringes

of a shabby precinct, night.

Door-snake was outsize, dirty puce.

I mean, fat. Man-size. Spent

the evening carousing in a low-life joint.

Fleshy, hairless and invertebrate too.

No wonder door-snake got rolled,

passed-out in an unfamiliar doorway.

A genuine article of the Underworld

rolled up from the stench below.

Shameless the way door-snake lolls

like that, totally out of it

and losing it at the seams

in full view.

Miro Bilbrough

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