They taste worse than coins
and are used in spells
as when my mother
put a curse on my first
social engagement with a girl.
As we stepped out of the cinema
she failed to negotiate
the toggles on her coat
and was taken by the need
to perform public acts
of intimacy, such as
running her hands
through the flickering neon
of her hair as red lines
like scarification
appeared on her face.
I have a button
with a wolf’s head set in pearl
that I stole
from a market in Wiltshire -
some village known for
its car boot sales and cider.
I have tried wearing it
like a brooch or badge
but the wolf's ear rubbed
my left nipple raw.
When made into a ring
it gleamed on my finger
like an advanced hallmark
of melanoma.
These days I wear clothes
cut from one piece of cloth
and the wolf has a paper-clip
holding its mouth together.
Life is rich and uneventful.
Anthony Lawrence has published sixteen books of poems, the most recent being 101 Poems (Pitt Street Poetry, 2018). Headwaters (Pitt Street Poetry, 2016) won the 2017 Prime Minister’s Award for Poetry. He teaches Creative Writing at Griffith University and lives on Moreton Bay.