I wake from a dream of Mandy
and teeter down the hall
to take a morning piss.
She was a lithe and willowy Kings Cross
honey at the Whiskey à Go Go,
full of sass and licorice whip gyrations.
She could change her color
like a cuttlefish
flopping on Bondi Beach.
Will you marry me?
Take me to America.
I’m serious.
I will love you forever.
A case of the clap
and the applause of pain
came a week later.
I squirted razor blades
and cursed her name
in waves of syncopated screams.
An echoing urinal
back in Quang Tri
became my confessional.
