Billy Snaps

Billy snaps:
she’s tethered to the open moment,
buttocks prized, backward glance;
focus not on anaesthetized eyes,
but the depthless face.

Billy breaks a sweat; Big Mike snaps
his fingers: Stop.
Someone brings biscuits and fat glasses festooned with dewdrops.
The boys eye their cards, jean crotches lolling, smokes cocked on their lips.
Billy mops

his brow, shuffling shots; Big Mike notes
You’ve captured her.
She’s sunk on the bed, sucking
juice from a straw, in a waking nap.
She doesn’t look up.

And it’s go again; More lube, make it snappy.
Big Mike grasps a prop; Billy’s lens stops short
of those eyes, and their drugged twanging deepness.
Big Mike plunges and it sounds like soup, slaps and sucks,
and he snaps: Crocodile tears so Billy snaps
and Big Mike’s done, Let’s wrap; Billy holsters the camera, proffers a tissue,
and looks at her,
and she smiles,
and Billy snaps.


29/09/05