An Anonymous Unit, Southern Inner Sydney
The remnants of a roast chicken lay strewn
on its ripped open foil bag packaging
on the dining table,
along side a too full ashtray
and too many beer bottles.
Our hero lays back,
bloated,
excess he’s taken unprepared.
The midnight TV flickers blue,
advertisements of telephone sex.
The phone rings, he’s stirred,
wrong number, they always are.
While he’s up he gets another beer,
turns off the TV,
and soaks in the silence.
Our hero lays back,
sated,
excess, he’s raping, unaware.
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