the sky looks as the sun
falls down, around the City.
There’s a boy wearing make up
and he looks pretty – drawing the scene
that slowly dissipates to black.
But it’s never real blackness, is it?
Just a temporary blinding that leaves
the mind free to see what
was shiny, before.
A Tom cat hissing, heckling my
dress for its colour.
It’s not what it seems, little one
Nothing is ever as it seems.
He raises a claw and I’m bleeding
Recalling my last tetanus
I hear screaming – the boy wearing
make up, he’s seething
as the sun comes up before he could
paint me in