[Jan Iwaszkiewicz]

What a Holy Show
and her all pregnant with death
and the fool full of laughter
with his snot like ropes
and her mother in bed
with the pains in her head
and the sheets pulled up to her chin.

What a Holy Show,
a chook’s in the kitchen
with a snake and a squawk
and the duck’s done a runner
and the pig’s got the shits
and her Dad’s dead drunk
and the drought goes on.
Trees are chasing the dog.

What a Holy Show.
Sodden with sweat
with wind at her back,
she looks to the west
and worries the lump,
blind in her breast.
The letter she grips
is hard as stone
breaking through her fist.