—after a line by Fiona Hile


Not yet drunk, or appreciating 

poetry—stuck 
on the highway—I offer

the male glaze, 
you imitate the silence

of Werribee. Spot 
any zebra? I spy—

one donkey.
I say: ‘the party

will be over…
I mean the poetry

…hopefully…’ 
I say:

‘the speeches…’
In the traffic jam

on the Westgate 
you paint your lips

in the dark—