Dirty White Girl
by Ian Mullins
Fingers reek of manila,
but I close them on the umbrella
where Donna’s long fingers
tipped with black varnish
must have closed
when she walked out into the rain:
but halfway cross the street
I imagine she stopped,
lowered the black shield
and opened her clothes,
and while the green light filled up with water
the wetness poured down
over her dirty white breasts
and washed the day’s filth
deep into her skin.
No wonder she smiled
when she brought back my umbrella,
wet from the rain glistening the jewels
buried in her nails, damp ghosts
I press my stubby digits over
to jerk the same button, a diamond in the wood.
Watching the black shield
catch the white seed;
cold stars firing up the night sky.
Mullins ducks and covers in Liverpool England. The music-themed
collection, Laughter in the Shape of a
Guitar, was published by UB in 2015. The chapbook, Almost Human (Original Plus),
will be published in 2017.