The Writing Experiment by Hazel Smith

must get all the guys you’re

really pretty

(George sweats and, thankfully, doesn’t speak his thoughts aloud.)

The man smiles at me and only has one tooth. In all my relationships

I find that I am perpetually unamused yet perpetually trying to

impress. One gives me a bunch of forget-me-nots with a card

reading ‘‘don’t forget-me-not’’. Kitsch. One gives me a porcelain pig

(‘‘It’ll remind you of me,’’ he says). One gives me a rubber dog

(‘‘It’ll remind you of you.’’) This, he doesn’t say, but he thinks it

wholeheartedly.

On Mondays Jeanette wears her hair like a prowling lioness. George

notices that next to all of the other gobbling chickens Jeanette’s

scent is far superior. He likes the way her neck arches upwards and

slightly to the left, allowing just enough angle to sound a slow

lioness’s growl from underneath her collarbone.A growl a day never

goes astray. That’s George’s second favourite motto. George enjoys

plunging his eyes into Jeanette’s soupy marshmallow neckline. His

eyes taste her fairy-floss lips. He imagines them melting under the

heat of his breath. He knows she’s waiting. He thinks of the burning

leather interior of his car and longs to have Jeanette’s smooth

billabong body spread along its surface...

it’s uncomfortable in

your car and my back

hurts and I’m

squirming because I

know it shouldn’t feel like this

fish face with your purple cold codfish caresses

ruminating

round and round

like some decrepit old cow chewing dead grass

I know you try

but

102 The Writing Experiment