J. J. Carey

Mother, I can't serve

in the shop today, because Venus has me losing my fucking mind over a girl. You know
what Venus is like at the best of times, but she’s partying with Jupiter and it’s not dark til
9pm now and, well, it’s gotten out of hand again. I say a girl, she’s more of a woman. And
the shop is so, well, you know - tedious. Customers always angry, wanting whatever we
don’t have, whatever we might have or never had. Bitching about the prices. Fucked off
that they have to shop at all, when they could have it already in their fridge, in their hand,
in the back of their throat, falling out of their anus into the sewers. I say a woman, she’s
more of a concept. Stunning, though. Legs for days. Teeth for hours. Hair for eternity.
Joints for a fleeting moment. OK yes, mother, the woman is liberation, again. She’s
everyone’s home and food and medicine taken care of without alarm clocks and uniforms.
And she’s making me unhinged! I want what’s best for us too, mother. I just can’t believe
it’s bunions from standing at the till with a microplastic smile for hours on end. There are
damselflies on the river this week, mother. Rhododendron petals spilling over The Hollies
like a middle class wedding. The leaves have just pushed their way out of the death with soil
on their faces, mother

after Sappho