We are come

for the democracy sausage

instead we have steel cut oats with rhubarb

and oysters, champagne.

On the way home:

‘free worm wee’

advertised on a hand-written sign,

hanging on a fence, picket.

We are a household that composts, you know.

The kids don’t like McDonalds,

can’t abide the stuff.

They prefer sushi (fresh) and

ricotta cannoli from the bakery.
In this way,

democracy thrives.
We are come for the

poetry, too, something

we can sink our teeth into

(pardon the pun). Because ‘if we are only ever relational /

where do I hang my rabbit fur cloak?’

— E., in the corner of a gallery, work in progress