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  David Turns


Early Morning Girls
We sit on the hard sidewalk-
watch corroding cars slide on by,
half honking horns of quick-fire-recognition,
muffled shouts and frantic arms…
a parade of party people in a place which has lost all order.
charity shops, tattooed ex convicts
and gold ear-ringed girls pushing prams-
big dogs on hard metal leashes growl, against a backdrop of bleak little homes,
january grey alley ways which lead into black-
the shock of colour of her pink mini skirt,
the bold lipstick and sway of her hips,
her eyes tell stories from late last night
and until another hidden moon/
she will go through the motions ‘til afternoon,
when the drugs will cease to be
and she will sleep until the stereo five-doors-down
rocks her awake and it will be time for more-
seventeen-year-old-party-whore with a story to tell.
my gaze retracts (straight back) to the girls I am with,
old friend in a headband, close cropped hair and shining eyes;
she talks excitedly to the fair haired girl,
tiny corduroy skirt and stretched t-shirt over ample breasts.
they break off for a heavy-hip-hop-beat,
dance down ‘n’ dirty in the fragmented street
and then return to their earlier conversation-
same as each day, same as forever but said with a smile,
said in a wild way which burns me up,
which makes me feel more than I have for years,
which makes me bask in the sheer brilliance of it all-
the sleeping on floors,
the corrugated doors and mottled dirt–strewn-carpets,
dead rooms in tower blocks
and mean places which never end/
menace lurking around each bend
but with them i am free-
i am everything i hoped to be.
the freckled girl takes my hand
and i am in love,
tattered locks of rose gold hair/
clothes flung on with little care;
as feral as the moment-
eating the gusts that blow her from one sad place to another,
she makes bearable what is not,
she makes sense of the senseless
and surrenders me gently to sheer the chaos of it all.
i stare at her thighs and sigh-
smiling back/ she takes me to her car,
we ride around this place (two girls bouncing in broken car seats)
singing along to banging beats,
twisting through the barren boulevards and beyond-
stopping by the tragic shopping mall/
closed up stores and post office queues,
young mothers smiling acknowledgments as my two princesses pass;
it is then she turns to me,
radiant, rose gold and charming freckles,
“we could go to my place?”
there are places i need to avoid
but her place isn’t one of them!
we walk hand in had in the setting sun
and everything else continues on.

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