the annual pull and prod of
one dejected boob and
the other weary boob is on

somehow
reminiscent of swirling rotis
hand over hand and raw
dough slapped down on
white melamine floury and dry
flatter than slices of pale melon
while perfect perspex
squashes and smooshes
ever harder to see clearer
how the movie turns out

then
white grainy orbs veiny and distinct
facing each other blindly and
quietly, on film, making peace now,
this time fortunate together.

but come the next invasion
it is each one again for themself
once more and on their own
alone and lonely- separate

a neat and together pair for now
the fear abated and slack