10-08-2010, 07:48 AM
On the chip shop's menu board,
beside the photos of fried fish,
a West Coast girl with a coke bottle stands,
her black hair falling down like soot
from the chimney of her scalp,
her small breasts pointed and flesh talcum white.
We in the queue pay her no mind, though she continues
to smile at the opposite wall. Our skin is pallid,
our clothes badly cut. Each buys his food and then leaves.
beside the photos of fried fish,
a West Coast girl with a coke bottle stands,
her black hair falling down like soot
from the chimney of her scalp,
her small breasts pointed and flesh talcum white.
We in the queue pay her no mind, though she continues
to smile at the opposite wall. Our skin is pallid,
our clothes badly cut. Each buys his food and then leaves.