Grease

The water of the mirror in the room is dark green. Quiet as translucence in the light of a limestone cave nr the ocean. and it had been pasted on/to the wall like a map. the shape of a ilann one of those lopp slidèd half-square Caribbean-shape islands like Trinidad or central Virgin Gorda bicycles of clock bangg from the sky of the ceiling & there was a large black snortless hunchback motorbike yu wd hardly notice like some large stuff animal or dead watchdog in the coroner It was the plumber's shop or place of business & his tools - compressor. steel rods. borer. corkscrew. plunger. pit-block. bolt- snake. witch-hazel-ariel - was grey spinache-colour fossils or dead aborted insects of all shapes & snizes lying like asleep in boxes. on dirty botched-up butchered tables even uncrawling on the floor The plumber himself is like a pearson walking in dead grass that was dried grease stale stain stencils of yesterdays black spaces printing their patterns on his now almost invisible garment of cloth skin leather flesh of old newspaper(s). and his large bright hands were like smooth blind eyes which he held out before him like a hearing aid that he use as a searchlight into the pits & pus & refuse & the soft black starch of latrines. the black slag of the ten thousand hours of how she use to sit w/ her eyes strainingclose(d) in the darkness of her priv- vvvy which was now as pubic as the multi. cultural flags of sheets & trousers & coloured shirts left hanging from their wrists on the bleach clotheslines yvvv of the ungovern- mental yard that told the blue curled flapping morning world that the goodwife was at home. cooking w/ clean wipe hands minutes of soapsuds ticking up to her elbows sometimes. flogging them off onto the squared crook. ed floorboards peelin off the flowery fields of linoleum & sticky to her bare feet & so slightly musty after the mop. looking down at her feet far below the blue apron w/out suc. cess. soiled fence against dishwater & evil droppings of surcease. not even against the tell tale trail of the mice . saying aloud since there was on one to hear or inferr that the water runnin too slow- ly today in the grey day now grasping for breath in the kit. Chen leaning over the sink & straightening up so she wd not sink down the steep gulch of the mem- ories of more roaches then she cd ever have handle. the brass tourniquet of water that turn them off. overflowing like ants really. tick- in like a large ugly wristwatch of death under her very window. un- der the concrete slab that covered her privacy now the business not now of the plumber. her husband. but this sly false schloostle keymaker who had enter her life thru a gimlet as it were. when all the locks shd have been shut like her eyes against in- vasion. but she had seen him pee. pin in at her w/ his two long thin antennae searchlight eyes thru the blind open eyes of her window- curtains that she shd have been washin for Easter but hadnt because of the ru. mour of earthquake. the heat so early in the year already like a tumour she cd feel. sometimes see like a soft grey mist behind her sight. on the righthand side of the road she walked from the supermarket to the blank in her face forcing her eyes to see thru their pane as he. squint. in at her thru her window. was seeing her now as if for the first time. which he was. which he was. thru the thousand silences of the dresses she had nvr been able to buy. to off. ord. to wear. to share w/ the boys who wish so much to strip her of the village she had nvr forgotten even tho she had come to town so many footnights before on the...