My third eye was bitten
As I walked down the centre of town,
Watching the girls in uncomfortable shoes
Holding their bags of image and labels,
The old men caught in yesterday’s news,
The worker fighting for recognition,
The mother racing to be on time and better
Than ‘good enough’.
The skin rose red above my third eye
As I walked towards the café,
Watching the teenagers caught in
The tangle of hormones and gratification,
The insecurities bright over their newly
Formed bones and stretched skin,
The women, the women the women
In too tight clothing, thinking that holding
Youth by the tail they will somehow
Hold onto love, prestige and self worth.
My third eye glowed red, bitten and swollen
As I sat and waited for my coffee with milk,
Watching the ideas walk past me,
Watching my ideas float through me,
Watching how they did not settle,
But burned the surface only.
Photo: Tiffany Jones
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