Overflow

If you were a forensic expert You could trace my journey home through little bits of bile From Ponsonby Road to Grafton via the tattoo parlour and Hopetoun Bridge’s night kitchen Past the girls too young or not clean enough to work the agencies of Karangahape Road Maybe they like the thrill of the chase or that bitter taste of freedom. or. the risk of going it alone On the coldest of midwinter streets No Sheets No Cover No protection They check me out as I whistle past Swinging my plastic bag of takeaways Perhaps it was my strange behaviour? Leaning into any available shrubbery or gutter drains to deposit the Malaysian meal’s not-easily-digestables Churned up and spat out Spoonfuls of regurgitation All the way home This little piggy eats too fast. This little piggy eats too much This little piggy doesn’t know when she’s had enough. The moon gives those girls a run for the money and attention Not that their customers care – eyes tightly shut Inconspicuously parked up Spills her light onto surrounding clouds Feeling her fullness as she waxes Cold milk brimming beauty Taut breast compressed into a too-small push-up cup This night Touch it Just about ready To overflow Caitlin Smith August 8th 2006