Blow

Inspired by the poem of the same name by Alison Dunne

Room scattered with the things,
that every days are made of.
Rotting food from days ago.
Stale curls of crisps.
Her body is a centerpiece.
Its skin iced, diced, puffed.
The stuck heroin needle,
high fives her sleep.
She's been sold down a river,
for a damp, crumpled fiver.
Veins thrumming the breast.
Patsy Cline goading the stereo.
Now a paramedic shouts.
Dishes out adrenaline.
A silent prayer.
This minister of life,
he knows this woman.
He can see her as a child.
The smiles,
scratched pop songs.
A birthday dress,
flecked with fish paste.
He locates a breath,
a pulse,
a shared rhythm.

The paramedic is no longer alone.
His sister begins to blow.