Hot Ghost

i’m always standing in
the hot ghost of your car
poets blood
cold in my fingers.
Crucifix me a drink while
you’re inside my mind:
the esky of our empathy —
Its blue fingerprint plastic
fading in warmer years
in rusted lifetimes
of caring
in weeks
of love
in seconds
of understanding
the scholars of Sunday Afternoon.
i was good at this once:
shaking your revolution lego.
but now i’ve
faded completely underneath
your planet
and been replaced by
conversations
with wrapping paper.
i am:
your lost phone
ringing,
your wasted Monday,
something you can do
with your bones —


Laundry Man (Western Australia)

A version of this poem was exhibited at The University of Western Australia for Trove's Poems on Posters project.