Station to Station

{Iris bleats and purrs at my feigning injury
until the man she’s never seen
pushes his head under the visor of her pram}

{univited}

“I know how it is, mate. I’ve got five of my own.
Well I say my own, they’re my nieces and nephews.”

I don’t want to talk to you:

“Heh heh. Yeah.”

“Need help getting on, mate?”

Not from you.

“I’m alright, buddy. Old hand at this.”

{Iris stares at the man
a counter-top pollock
still standing close to us}

{univited}

“He’s not very happy, is he?”

“She’s a girl”

“Ah… Well they all look the same at that age.”

No one tells you about the Strangers.
Their new rights to small talk.
And you don’t like strangers.

“She ill?”

but that didn’t have a name when you were young.

“Don’t think so.”

you were just anti-social.

“You sure?”

No prescription meds

“Pretty sure.”

just homemade masks

“Mine were never like this.”

“Your sister’s, you mean?”

“… And brother’s. 5 between them.”

Powerful incest makes wombs of us all.
Life, uh, ah, uh, finds a way.

{Iris reaches for you
hides at the back of your neck
sharing your mask.}

---