Kristen de Kline #94 Saturday night (thanks to Rob & Kit)

Saturday night

I
my son puts on his new Factorie denim jacket, fur-lined     he picks up house keys MyKi card mobile phone charger a six pack of Strongbow cider    says, I love you Mum     ties up his man bun pierces a stud through the flesh of his nose     I say, send me a text when you arrive   he says: too easy, I love you Mum     three times, one after another, he tells me he loves me               as if    
      I won't be here
          when he returns

II
I never knew Carl Williams mother killed herself
I told you I watch too much True Crime

III
Rob says have you ever died     been flanked by
wolves     circled by sharks swimming in
backyard pools     is every smile a
knife     that slices you even thinner
like the Baker's Delight machines

IV
I'm not afraid of Lawless
I've grown attached to dead men who leave their hollow bones
     by the milk bar
pedantic bureaucrats     scare me
more     surveillance bracelets wrap around my
wrist    make my skin
     creep     and     crawl

V
Every time I write a poem the skies change
colour     but mostly they’re amethyst, a deeper shade of violet
brooding     tears float beneath
skies     words     clouds      lines    you can't quite
catch  

VI
Some days the Gods
smile     the dead still
chatter: it won't be long
now     a sea of possibilities
ripple    past     little waves
like the beat-beat-beating of a butterflies
wings     you can breathe
again     in out in out
just breathe

VII
Is dying the forgotten thing
does it taste like fear like love
some rain falls down
the wipers you use
stop working
after you
die