Buying Satin Dresses at Yu Garden

15 September 2017

I buy them like fruit,
my body

still on the bike,
one foot grounded.

This one like a wedge
of lime on my lip.

Idiot machines
clench these colours

together in some grainy
province,

craft
ravelled down

to whatever thread’s
cheapest, raw cord

around the waist,
three cuts: head, arms.

This one slides
from its hanger, a ripe

weight in my hand,
crazed yellow strung

from the machine’s
tropic mind.

The street slings past.
A man pushes

his fruit cart, calls out.
I lay the dress

in my basket, hand over
blanched banknotes,

and though I know
this appetite can’t be met

by a dress
it is so delicious

that both my feet
are already off the ground.

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