Gillian Merlot

Gillian Merlot
is a mistress and a book binder
gently sewing on the shelf behind me,
she looks authentic in the wings with that fake smile of hers
plastered across in haste.
Her tears never rain
but tour down her face
in torrential laps of alpine needle flats
and Italian lakes.

I asked her to shower me in bank collapse clothes the day before an eternal day off, but she declined,
suit and booted me out of the job into
khaki shorts and t-shirts
opposed the Fitch & Abercrombie I should have never been wearing.
Merlot makes me feel fierce again,
out of debt and always in pocket
of another bottle
filled again with hotel sized portions of not a lot else
but backwash and murmur,
caught sound in conch shell just another Everyman Twitter moan.
Shut up,
the ones and zeros have tattooed your face in equations not even anti-feminist scientists can work out.