GAIUS AND AULUS: TWO LOVERS IN POMPEII GRAFFITI
gaius stomps grapes
every evening at the winery
until the early hours of the morn
when stained red toes tread weary steps home
past the brothel wall scrawled with graffiti
perverse whisper on stone
great proclamation to his love
aulus the olive man
awaiting his return
straddling his spittoon of spit pits
some spilt on hot asphalt
a promise to recant all pleasures
of the feminine flesh
in exchange for his lover’s taut thighs
hind legs bent like hinges
under moonlight one night
see gaius and aulus soft-shoe
black corinth underfoot
arm around waist
cool rotations
a little hip action
the workload completed in half the time
SOMEWHERE THAT'S GREEN
the avon handbook
is her bible
she’ll swear before
god and his green earth
there’s nothing a
little rouge can’t fix
hair set in hot curlers
dressing gown tied tight
she fumbles in the dark for
sultanas from the cupboard
spilling pulses and pinto beans
a frantic ricochet
across the kitchen floor
how much money
do you think we really save
buying dried over canned?
certainly not as much as
the emotional toll of
forgetting to soak them
in the morning and
having to reschedule
a week’s worth of meals
ANDREW CUNANAN
picket lined paths align
the pineapple plantation
great paces of hollow produce
poured out beneath purple moon
acres of a fanciful prosperity
aching in the stomach
of the patriarch who can never leave
his progeny is in the paper again
the pariah with a propensity
for precipitating great pain
“such a pity” news anchors posit
he progressed through the echelons
of those great american pastimes
toppled heads of fashion houses
brought chicago to its knees
the philandering fictionist
whose philanthropic fits
of fury felt palpable fully
Will Arthur Spiller believes that forgetting to pay his phone bill constitutes as 'high camp'. His poetry has appeared in Queerlings Magazine, Horse Egg Lit and The Bitchin' Kitsch, among others. Find him on Instagram @willspiller