Three Poems

how to trap a silverfish

silverfish is starving he
wants to eat my books

found him in the kitchen
sink looking for my books

i wrapped the books plastic
labelled with the date

wrapped a cup in sticky tape
filled the cup with flour

starving little silverfish
eat this dust instead

it’s nice beneath the orange couch

i’m not scared of anything
the door’s just nicer shut
and so are the windows
and the drains, taped over
but the vent’s wide open
because i cannot reach it,
so i watch it like TV and
huntsman comes right in.
             sits on the couch
             chooses the movie then
             crawls underside
             says, join me and
i pull off the cushion and jump.
it’s ice down here
deadened sound no reception
i can’t find my phone any-
                                              way it’s nice
beneath the orange couch
huntsman brings me cups of tea.
i can’t hear the way
concrete heaves after rainfall
no broken faucet spitting metal.
belly-dent the pillow floor,
huntsman rubs my back.
i can’t find the way
out i haven’t thought to try.

i’ll be in the underpass

towards utopia

you’re snoring. couldn’t you hear it? loud like a steam engine but i guess the traffic is louder still. look around, the walls are bare. no corner, even, for the spiders to build their stern geometries. the ruin made them move on. but you’re sleepy, i’ll leave you to it. three doonas stacked like bind and i’m out riding the night bus. the man in the back row is cracking jokes. says he’s from bankstown. sky turns purple and i step off. tell everyone i’ll see them later. 

you fell asleep again but i’m fare-evading the night bus just to have something to do. driver is sweet, drops me off at the underpass even though it’s not a stop. not really. it hugs the train tracks but will never be a station. council’s lathered one layer of paint over the last for nearly a hundred years. it all congeals together, separate from the brick. ready to peel right off in one swift swoop. then we’ll get our building back. no bullshit halogen bulbs, the light white hot – glows like venom. we’re all here, see? sean from next door, and he brought beer.

you’ve got it wrong. we chose a place with no windows because this way nothing can shatter. no distractions, no nostalgia. just a hundred of us in the underpass trying to get our building back. and back home, where you lie supine, you lose another wall. someone screws your door off its hinges and walks away with it. the daybreak will be violet. i’ll retrieve my key and hang a painting on the wall and the cobwebs will return, too.