by Jordan Barling
that you arrive with cigarettes and beer
not even a change of clothes
only a toothbrush in the cloth handbag
that you wear bandolier
collect the Vietnamese take-away and empty the bins
chaining on the apartment balcony as I make calls
that you stay for days even though the best I can offer
is the fold out couch
purchased for a beach house in 1986
each evening we bend the armrests back
this is what it must feel like to
realign the spine
Jordan Barling is a Melbourne-based writer. Her poetry is included in the upcoming issue of Overland.
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