An apparently small and perfect
red patent clutch bag from the 60s
jam-packed with silky pockets and
3D glasses never looked through.
A commemorative Queen figurine
in a bell-shaped farthingale
with a coin slot pelvis. Hollow
but for what you put in her.
A large orange armadillo
I found behind the rose bushes
who stretches out liquid
as a cat when I stroke him.
A black pelican who sits aside
me on ships’ decks and catches
in his pouched bill anything
of me the waves’ swell dislodges.
The quiet leafy lagoon I swim
with a family of three boys:
the only debris a flat pack
skeleton glowing at the bottom.
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