A Believer

He woke to tastebuds vying to recall

green grass’ wet scent–

Granny Smith, tart and crisp.

Sits on his palate in a yellow house

in somewhere Indiana

bitter roots and semi-rot instead.


Can I Have McDonalds Instead?

The humid air smelt of the overripe mangoes

squashed at the bottom of its huge tree.

Aunts, uncles, cousins, and siblings tangle

to watch the cocks fight in their little ring.

A spree with spurs taped securely to their legs.

Held back by his leash a drooling dog.

Bets flowing from hands like blood water.

Behind hips hides a young girl clasping

hands over her ears, thinking of anything,

but of her friend being torn to shreds.

Shelly, go fill the pot with water.

Fighting the urge to vomit in her mouth.