The Lymphatic System
Spreading like a spiderweb, it fiercely digests intruders, weaving threads of immunity…
Read more →Beneath city lights, a shared drink sparks a woman's defiant flight from a predatory encounter
The lemonade sweats on the table.
Your eyes are fixed on mine. Below us,
the city heaves with its night-time traffic.
The thunder of trains with commuters
Leaning out from the open doorways
hanging on to their lives.
You tip the vodka in, daring me to
take a sip. The key remains on the table.
Room 501. A waiter sidles past, his sleazy eyes
run all over me. I look at my watch and
follow the trails of condensation slinking
down the glass.
Slowly, I reach for the lemonade, you smile
in encouragement. But ‘accidentally’
I knock the glass over.
All over your shirt.
All over the keys.
All over your smile.
I grab my bag and run. The train
thunders past with its night-time crowd.
This time, I am hanging from the door,
Hanging on to my life.
Hanging you out to dry.
I will never drink lemonade again.