Chloe Meakin


Heterochromia - Poem by Chloe Meakin

On the bound, on a road,
the darkened land dying in the dust sky.

I am asleep in the front seat of the car and you drive.
In the old country, hell had no fury.
But in the new country, in the new country....

In the tungsten future, our lives are like a stripper.
Right now we are cranking to that time, grinding to it, dancing to it, waiting, waiting.
Wake me when we get there.

We will take a hotel room, and I will go into the bathroom,
wash the months of brine off my body.
You will unpickle yourself.
We will be a little wrinkled, imperfect. Tough to the touch.

But I will take a potato peeler and take off that hard skin of yours.
I will cure it like a pig, and forgive it. It smells nice like smoke.
You will take off my clothes and bathe me in two colours, over and over.
Those white lines across my flesh are best forgotten.

We will find fast food, consume it on the silent hotel sheets.
Meat and cheese in your sullen mouth,
wax wrappers two colours beneath your hip and your thigh.
I will watch but my tongue will be quiet, perfect as a diamond.

Then we will get used to the metropolitan together.
All summer shuttling, station, station, route, station, map, station, amenity.
All summer cement, water, paint, metal, tarmac, asphalt, fans and vents,
plaster, grass. Places where you shouldn’t park. The exit and the overpass.
Eyes flicking over filthy bricks, brick after brick with sweat between our joined hands.
All summer blank two colours and electric... itching, itching. Television late at night,
light on and then off and kettle boiled just to feel its power.
Everything’s too hot and walls too wet and windows throbbing.
Don’t forgive me. Don’t come home. Don’t stop drinking. Please be late.

At night your lips will be bloodless,
vibrating with the words they cannot say.
My lips will be lost in the bone of your skin,
their words two colours buried, angry and drained.

But right now your head is on my lap while I drive.
Eyes two roses, both colours tightly closed. Be here.
I’m driving through this desert road like a bounding tiger and

this is all I don’t believe I really need.


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Poem Submitted: Sunday, June 12, 2005



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