Debbie Yee





Clean-Up

The bristles of 12 noon
should scrub away
the heaped-up fog,
Mother says. Then
we’ll see the sky’s
summer lustre,
that blue of certain
hydrangeas, the
pale effect given to
the memory of your
ex-lover’s eyes, as
you migrate towards
a Chinatown alleyway to
pick up the roast suckling pig.





postcard from Chronicle Books

return to SHAMPOO 31