REEL IN, RELUCTANT ❋ Tara McGowan-Ross

Montréal august, always
too hot or too cold since
we got used to assigning that sort of value
to temperature.

it smells like asphalt
and somebody else’s barbecue and
my new shoes are too big, third hand
from a shop I have never been to and
I always close the page after the
initial impulse, never
willing to fight through anything, even when
the fighting is easy.

I wanted to become more
mysterious (less exposed)
so I became a ghost
the last green stage of bruising or
“could have done better”, the ache-echo.

pork rib skin splits, spills juice
hissing on hot coals and I have been told
pigs are smarter than three year old children
I swore to limit my cruelty
it is a matter of where to trim the fat.