DEMONS
We met in the dinner queue. All week
I’d been watching you, watching me.
Term two: tuck shop, bike rides,
lip gloss, lighting fires at dusk.
Term three: first secrets, worst fears
tentatively shared. Mine soon spilled;
yours dripped through a steady filter.
All I knew of demons was in dreams.
Once you drew a serpent, coiled,
with a half-closed, bloodshot eye;
then a cobra, poised to strike.
These beasts grew talons, wings
and whiplash tails.
As they changed, they merged.
A single phoenix beat the air
above our ring of embers.
Your demon never left you. In death
its jaws unclenched, the tortured hands
relaxed their grip.
Still you’re haunted by its empty stare,
crippled by its love.
