And then after dawn came
this blazing temporal dyke.
Their name was Mary or Matilda
or Melanie. They spoke so fast
in an Elvis like sneer I couldn't
be sure what they said. When we
shook hands my fingers throbbed,
repercussions from their vice like grip.
They had always been pumping iron
and our landlord used them as
an enforcer on moon lit flit types.
Surprising them in the act,
intimidating the shit out of
the moving van haulers, big
burly men who backed off warily.
They worked at the Italian bakery
double shifts doing the work of five,
their arms crackling in salty sweat.
On my way to the dockyards
we would pass in the morning light.
They would confidently smile and wave
in an embracive motion as if
they had it all figured out.