Forget all
the small talk.

It's more about
Persephone

fleeing & meeting
& fleeing again

her mother's hurt
in the racked bloom

of a hoar frost,
throwing hot water

on the door lock
of the old orange car

for a quick getaway.
This is right

at the start
when the red claws

of fragrantissima
rat-a-tat-tat

on your heart
& you stand there

in the mainstreet
in Mataura

beefing on
in the flirty rain

about the lack
of a thaw

& who needs it
anyway.