footnotes, spotlights, prompts and broken props
facepaint, old lines, codpieces, tutus
stagemarks and an empty spittoon
*****
I spilt my seed in Bethan Efans,
We waited, nervous, for three weeks;
But then last Sunday she had her monthlies,
We were so happy that we could hardly speak.
*****
By duck, we mean to sing, sweet Nell,
Down by the pump, by the pond on the green.
There is not too much litter there.
*****
it’s smell is overpowering.
your music, her lisp, my ego.
*****
Lazy tea I will not drink (my tired heart,
no care for beauty, yr old milk carton
discarded on the floor, the unswept floor).
*****
small nut-brown nipple. self-knowledge
parting.
