Artwalk POETRY and ART

Collateral Damage

Red droplets have dried
on white laminate. The uncapped
bottle disperses
an odour like black-skinned
bananas throughout the room.
Were your nails
tacky when you packed
your Diane von Furstenberg bag, cast off
the must-have-kitten that’s weaving
tip-toed figure eights around my legs?
Were you thinking of me when you left
the applicator, bristles now lacquer-hardened,
bleeding slower, and slower
onto the counter? You said
you loved me. Said you loved
that nail polish too.