Rolling Your Guts

Rolling Your Guts

by DS Maolalai

 

2am:

cheap chinatown cigarettes sold in 20s

by an old woman

with only one eye and a damaged finger

and now it’s

symphony:

knees to the tile

and the rolling your guts

as it all comes out,

propelled

by pressure from the center

like a filled up water barrel

and the splashing flavour

of a stew gone rancid,

both of your forearms

pressed on the plastic

and regrets of a night

like too many of them

floating down,

the stinking of tarry smoke,

beer

and gin cocktails.

oh poseidon,

dead fish

returning to the sea,

here we are

again

in your arms like crazy whales.

 


DS Maolalai recently returned to Ireland after four years abroad, now spending his days working maintenance dispatch for a bank and his nights looking out the window and wishing he had a view. His first collection, Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden, was published in 2016 by the Encircle Press. He has twice been nominated for the Pushcart Prize.

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