publishing poetry only

Monday's Poem

Rose Hunter is the editor of an online poetry journal, YB. She's from Australia originally, lived in Canada for many years (nine in Toronto and one in Vancouver) —and now lives in Mexico.

Links to her poetry and fiction can be found at her blog: Whoever Brought Me Here Will Have to Take Me Home.

© 2010 Rose Hunter


So I wouldn't call the cab
you broke my phone
then gave me yours to
break so we could call it
even. I ripped the top off
slaughtered it in the pool.
Then took a dining chair,
heaved it over the rail. Added:
the remote, keyboard; other
things. In the morning
you were in your chair
in front of the TV, the same
but with smudges
on your slouched back;
variegations; which made you a
chimera, breathing
the usual, eighty proof,
your damp hair a mane
with leaves attached.
            Had to shake a tree
            to get the keyboard.

On the way back, you
sat in the chair,
rested. Waved to a tourist.
You didn't find the mouse
you said. I didn't
throw the mouse, I said.
            Yes, you did. Then
you fixed my phone. Yours
was not so lucky.