Brett Firman
drunk on the looks
of the older boys
smoking
winnie blues in a corner
tipsy from a ten dollar note
slipped to a small toothless smile
at the local grog shop
cans littered on the grass
words littered over words
treading lightly
a graveyard
of unfamiliar faces
She wasn’t supposed to be there
slinking around
red velvet and fish nets
hiding
rotting flesh
howling in packs
furtive looks at the other girls
blending in by the patio
of broken glass
with a hint of
a redhead passed out
on a torn couch
they ducked under
the hills hoist
smiling into the blue light
of the bug zapper
smiling in the red footy jersey
of the bug zapper
he offered us a drag
broad shoulders
exploding into the circle
ominously white teeth
nervous giggles
play it cool
Hold my nose while I swig
vodka
with a metho undertone
from a pop-top bottle
in her purse
they said come
they said it’ll be fun
pretending
we’re almost sixteen
pretending
we live
in malicious white expanses
of bay windows and outdoor recliners
pretending
we knew their games
and lingering clutches
pretending
we weren’t an almost human
She smiled
taking the first bite
***
Brett Firman is an emerging fiction writer and poet from Melbourne. She holds a Bachelor of Arts and Bachelor of Arts (Honours) from Monash University majoring in Creative Writing and is currently completing a Master’s Degree in Journalism. Brett is passionate about social justice, in particular gender equality and LGBTIQ rights. She has previously been published in Verge 2016: Futures for her political poem “Flowers of Nauru”. Brett is a strong believer in the cathartic nature of writing; therefore, she draws inspiration from lived experience and incorporates everyday speech into her writing.