Helen Heath

Justine

There’s no point trying to
stop your Ugg boots from scuffing
on the ground, it’s just
the nature of Ugg boots. Anyways
there’s no hurry. You’re thinking
about those Black Sabbath lyrics
and him singing in a metal falsetto
in the garage by the beer fridge. One
hand on his Holden Torana to steady himself
the other holding a spliff the size of a cigar.

Finished with my woman
’cause she cannot help me with my miiind . . .

But then the wind picks up
and you feel as if it could lift you
right out of your boots
and take you past the firebreaks
on the hill. But it can’t be The Rapture
’cause you’re only just above the houses
and the river, which slides over
the shingle beds
and out to sea. Besides, you know
you’re a sinner and you can’t ascend.