By anyonita green

Location: Deansgate, near Croma

it is not that i am homesick
for the house of cards, mr simic.

i yearn for the proverbial flop
of the flimsy, two-toned structure,

replica of the place where origin
begins and comfort constructs walls.

*     *     *

last night we circled deansgate
with our hands tucked into the palms

of each other’s, those suits
in the high-class restaurant stared

through the window as he, his
breath warm against my cheek, slowly

lifted my skirt in the cold to reveal
unstockinged legs.

one woman blushed – yet could not
her eyes from us remove.

*     *     *

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