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leah dodd

i have the money, i’ve been working nights


on New Year’s Eve            while it was happening
we heard           the upstairs neighbour             
on the phone              to a man overseas

she was smoking out the window        
slurring about savings    

we pictured her nestled         in an old striped duvet
one foot dangling above us     face lit by the moon

she could buy a cabin for them         in Canada!        
it would be so nice in the winter          all chopped logs
and frosted panes                  rum hot choccies and
that wool-smell                 thick on the boot socks

honestly bro she said        talking right over him     
who was on speaker        and maybe in France
who muttered about         time differences     
and politely said he really             wasn’t sure but
he would think about it    

and what about his girlfriend           
were they still together?

how we looked at each other         
in the gap that followed    
before he said       
   yes, they were
and did she keep it?
   yes, she did

at which point        
while we were wondering
what this man was doing
on the phone for so long
with the upstairs neighbour
   if he had both girlfriend     
and baby
     but maybe            
with the time difference
or maybe    
      it’s just the mystery of love
something we’ll understand
                 when we’re older
 
we almost forgot the blood    
the worst coming true       
     and coming true

almost forgot what we decided
about going to the hospital now
  or waiting till morning

dark adult italian style


it’s hard not to fall in love with strangers
when everyone at the gig looks like
young Paul McCartney

I try to enjoy live music even though
I brought a child into the end times

when all the dystopian tropes are coming true
they won’t believe we knew but didn’t fix anything
I feel so embarrassed



it’s like trying to grasp galaxies
while drinking beer on the kerb and noticing
an ancient condom camouflaged with the gutter

I can’t take a single thing seriously
not even the world’s impending doom



in the internet’s greatest video a 1300s nun
clacks rosary beads and splashes holy water until
you make your last confessions and die of plague

I try to enjoy the internet even though
I brought a child into the end times



there is no excuse for having end-times children
only a selfish curiosity for
those unexplainable feelings

on weeknights I meet the feeling of hopeless dread
with a hot chocolate, interestingly named
DARK ADULT ITALIAN STYLE

I wonder what makes it adult, or even Italian
the darkness? the style?



when all the dystopian tropes are coming true
they won’t believe we just sat around drinking hot chocolate

wish I could swaddle the world in those scratchy pink
satin-trim blankets that lurk in every
70s-built state home

then send it gently into that dark night
with a little kiss on the forehead
and two vodka cruisers for the party

I could never have a sugar daddy because I don’t look after myself

after Phoebe Stuckes


people think that hairless cats are ancient
worshipped like cows or wildcats but really
some genes mutated in Canada

and now they need a skincare routine like the rest of us
regular baths, bamboo cloths, baby shampoo…

I only wanted to care for something small and alien
wanted to feed fresh baguette
to the local ducks and afford it

could’ve had Jeremy could’ve had Michael
could’ve had John or John or John
John could’ve bought me a sphynx

but I pick at my skin and I’m bad at acting
they should invest in someone who cares
for their appearance even a little

someone with a strong walk  
like those Lambton Quay women
all smooth hair and good shoes

who would say when they were charged twice
and wouldn’t just sit there
while a seagull ate their sandwich

once I pretended to be in love
but then it became real, like the velveteen rabbit

it became real and had to be taken away
to be burned in the forest like the velveteen rabbit
which is to say that it ended very badly

and still sometimes I cry on the bus
when that Nina song comes on

when I told the hairdresser about the blunt scissors
over the bathroom sink, no mirror just vibes
instead of saying woah how reckless, how wild

he only gave me a sad kind of look
and nudged my head down with his thumbs

Leah Dodd lives in Pōneke/Wellington. In 2021 she won the Biggs Family Prize in Poetry for her work written while completing an MA at the International Institute of Modern Letters. Her first poetry collection, Past Lives, will be published by Te Herenga Waka University Press in March 2023.