Materials
by Gaie Sebold

In the fabric shop on Berwick Street
the door swings shut
on "Come on darlin only a pahnd a scoop,"
and the pale girl in the doorway
two buildings down.

She smokes, uninterested
in the screaming neon signs
around her proclaiming sex
shrieking of delights
behind black-painted windows
her face suggests otherwise.

But the door swings shut on her
and before you - everything.
Silks coloured like passion
crimson and gold and
peacocks and tigers and
a pink like heart's desire
for which there is no name.
Cloth to cushion pavilions
cloth to drift on sea breezes
from the windows
of castles built on air.

Piled and piled upon each other
great swathes of satin and sequins
a grand opera of drag-queen glory
waiting for someone
to free them
swing them, swish them
sing in them, prance in them
and oh most definitely dance in them.

Stacked neat, modest in their quiet rows
here are the silks and satins
meant for weddings.
All the colours of hope
and presumed innocence
milk, cream and moonlight
whisper together
of possible but gentle pleasures
and blush
the palest of pinks.

But move on. And here
The PVC. Black, scarlet
and leopardskin
that never knew a leopard
but might know
the hunter all too well.

The PVC
shrugs, waiting
with its slick gleam
for the slash of scissors
down a fated line.

Even these
secreted fantasies
are more particular
much more exotic
than those satisfied
two doors down
with a pale bored girl
behind
black painted windows.


(First published in Magma 24 October 2002)

00:34
by Gaie Sebold

The big bus breathes like a slow animal
asthmatic wipers creep across its face.
Hauling itself
past steel-shuttered shops
with its cargo
of unripe hangovers.

(First published in "Stop the Millennium, I Want To Get Off", Wolfskin Press, 1999)

© 1999 - 2004 Gaie Sebold