Carnation falls to a young girl
her feet reverently bare
over orange juice and pale
copies of Rilke, Webb and
other unmentionables.
Sari gelin, sari gelin
to get here rocks like sepulchers,
swimming in your dirty whites
wearing his jumper to dry
she seems like him now, hunched
and bitter hacking at the sterile
ground, all salt and wattle brush
Sari gelin, hye kacher
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