Remembering something I lost when I wrote this

The highway is overhead this time.
We’re at a petrol station.
You don’t know how to react
to condoms on the highway.
I drop my head,
Piercing the glance away
from us
are others.

We show ourselves to
blotch the paper, I recall
the last
moment in this moment,
dragging across the tarmac.
And a troop of hounds,
half jammed door.
My skirt in my legs.

Blood pouring my side
is alive
pumping gas,
petrol, no smell.
Smoking.
And not in the car.
Tugged tug
like a boat.

Fed this,
it’s easy.
Rattles in the dark kitchen.
Flipping feet.
Posed fingers.
Shoes in hand.
Bright across the N3,
my skirt between my knees.

And the blue sky
flat on my head.
Pieces below.
Landing.
Up in this
here.
I’m stumstruck,
I remember from the last.
-nadine botha