by D.S. Maolalai
the rented belt grinder moves steadily
as traffic on bright afternoons. a coarse
sand. a fine sand. then finer. I work
past old carpet paste, stinking with decades
of fallen off skin, sweat and spilled
milky tea in a bedroom.
then it’s paint and then old
layers of varnish – specks float in the air
like a frost on a coldly dry day.
my mask fits imperfectly –
I spit and watch paperpulp
plaster the newly bared pineboard.
circle a corner of what seems to be rot.
occasionally pause to tap nails
into place with a bullpeen. in the bared window
occasional party sounds – bottles,
a singalong, the sharp snick of lighters
igniting. we got here two weeks ago –
the neighbours are pretty good fun. it’s city
centre housing. a bell rings from over
the river. the planer goes steadily –
this is a job I can do
in an evening, and tomorrow
a fresh paint of varnish. it’s pleasing to know
that, somewhere in a house, something
minor was done with your hands.
sweat drops occasionally, spotting
the boards with a faintly drawn circle
of knot. my wife is out drinking
and the dog is downstairs being anxious.
my erosion builds banks against skirting boards
of multicoloured sawdust. it builds fossils
on fingertips – thin swirls falling out of the past.
D.S. Maolalai has been described by one editor as “a cosmopolitan poet” and another as “prolific, bordering on incontinent”. His work has nominated twelve times for Best of the Net, ten for the Pushcart and once for the Forward Prize, and has been released in three collections; “Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden” (Encircle Press, 2016), “Sad Havoc Among the Birds” (Turas Press, 2019) and “Noble Rot” (Turas Press, 2022)
