S.A. Greene

He’s been at the precinct the past three Wednesdays, trying to sell driveways made of gravel and resin. Kathy and I discussed him in Birds. Who’d want a job standing out in the cold like that all day? ‘Poor sod’ I sighed and Kathy teased me, said I fancy him, like we’re teenagers or something. […]

For the background I used that wallpaper we stashed in the garage. Remember? Beige, with the egg-yolk coloured teddy-bears? Then I added glimpses of your on-off vintage leather bomber jacket. The little violin in the far corner is me, of course. Your ever-faithful motif. Hips swelling with expectation, chest puffed bravely, waiting for the orchestra

The boy on the Ann Alexander doesn’t want to die. Not on a velvet night like this under a sky hung with a million laughing stars. Not when tomorrow might bring dolphins playing alongside the ship, beckoning him like messengers from a better place.   The boy on the Ann Alexander is thirteen but his

It’s drizzling outside but I’m wrapped up warm in the café’s meaty breath and Dad’s hey-there! hug and I’m thankful he still looks the same and his stubble still feels like a dry wide tickle against my cheek but when we sit down he says what’re you getting to eat, Megan? which is my real

She plants them on the beach around midnight when she can’t sleep, when the moon weeps, when the sea turns its back on her and grumbles.   Annie builds walls from horizontal timber boards and vertical posts. They stand side by side like fence panels, parallel to the shoreline. Seventeen of them, at the last

Long before we emigrated, I wandered by accident into an encampment near our slums. The haphazard plastic chairs, the flies and mosquitoes and the chained yapping dogs were much like those of my own neighbourhood, yet to me the place had a sense of flickering unfamiliarity. I didn’t understand the alien angry words sharpening the