by Rose Hunter
Work hard that’s
all I did before, and then all I did
was drink; I’m boring,
in front of the razor wire
the man who says
no one has ever commented
on his eyes — how so?
they are blue and yellow
a torrential garden
to prove it, I took his picture
but the eaves turned them black
but no problem, the man
who fixed doors for thirty years:
perhaps you need the Mexican sun
to see them? — steps out, smiling.
Links to Rose Hunter’s published writing can be found at her website, Whoever Brought Me Here Will Have To Take Me Home. Her book of poetry, to the river, was published by Artistically Declined Press (2010). She edits YB, an online poetry journal, and lives in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.