By Dorothy Lune
So there’s this balding white man on the tram right—
/ what I dread in Melbourne should dread
me more— / up the stairs down the stairs in
between / door & door frame / imagine his hands
like sleeping spiders touching my skirt / no it
was a maxi skirt— / anyways so he scurries /
off at the slightest display of having balls / for we’re
all scared of unfamiliar / phenomena—
Heart planetary like a waxed belt that I saw
slipping off his / eager face / under
the stairs in between the stars I say I can’t help it—
or he should jump in front of the tram.
& he shouts: that little girl with big thoughts.
Dorothy Lune is a Yorta Yorta poet, born in Australia. Her work has appeared in Pinhole Poetry & more. She is compiling a manuscript, can be found online @dorothylune, & has a substack: https://dorothylune.substack.com/
Hot Pot Magazine 