by Geoffrey Aitken
i imagined my
hideaway
in secluded
high mountain country
so far from anywhere
it could comfortably insure
against misfortune
and in my convertible vehicle
i’d ride with a stolen village portrait
in the passenger seat.
to further infuriate locals
and show-off my booty
i’d parade with the top down
inviting them to witness
only windscreen protection
of her voluptuous skin.
© Geoffrey Aitken
Geoffrey Aitken (he/him) writes in Adelaide, on unceded Kaurna land as an awarded poet whose industrial minimalism communicates his ‘lived experience’ for publishers both locally [AUS] and internationally [UK, US, CAN, Fr & CN]. Recently, ‘Sparks of Calliope’ [UK] and soon, ‘The Closed Eye Open’, [US]; ‘Oxygen’ and ‘unusual work’, [AUS]. He was nominated for the annual Best of the Net anthology in 2022.
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The Amazine Community 
An intriguing poem; beguiling even. Loved this.
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