Old Cars Don't Go

Very Fast

Volume 1

A collection of poems by Bianca Martin, written 201 3-201 4

'The Navigator' was original ly published in A Sharp Knife Volume 1

'Elegy' was original ly published in A Sharp Knife Volume 2

'Evening Solace' was original ly published in A Sharp Knife Volume 3

'Chardonnay' was original ly published Insert Lit Mag Here Issue 6

'Moments' was original ly published in Iconic Lit

'My Parent's House' was original ly published in Mil lennial Garbage

'Untitled' was original ly published in Zoomoozophone Review Issue 3

'I t's All About Foresight' and 'Me IRL' were original ly published in Electric Cereal

'Just Watch Me' was original ly published in Ash Tree Journal Issue 2

How To Not Write

Tell yourself you deserve a sleep inTell yourself you should real ly go to the gymTell yourself to go buy milkTell yourself to check TwitterTell yourself the dishes need to be doneTell yourself you need a coffeeTell yourself to clean the bathroomTell yourself to Do some laundryTell yourself to check Twitter againTell yourself you deserve a breakTell yourself it's better to get highTell yourself to Have a showerTell yourself to Do some laundryTell yourself you deserve a beerTell yourself to get to bed early

The Navigator

i dreamt you were a continent—a vast place to explore.and you were mine aloneto conquer and adore.

roused and restlessfrom these reveriesin your sleep your hand reachesout for me—nimbly—

a blind declarationthat makes my heart soar.

i feel your heartbeatthrough our intertwinedfingertips; a bl istering tenderness.Mine,and mine alone.

Nightswimming

I t was the middle of the night. There was alcohol, of course. I was happy, with you.We were with friends, we were with strangers.Normally I 'm shy; normally I 'm self-conscious.I don't know if it was the alcohol or the darkness.Maybe I was intoxicated by lust.I didn't take a moment to stop and think.I didn't hesitate before pull ing off my clothes and cannonball ing into the pool.The water cut me off mid-scream and was refreshing on my sweaty skin that hadbeen perspiring in the humid night air.This was my first time skinny-dipping. I t's not something I ever really had anydesire to do, but I was young and stupid and fal l ing out of love.You jumped in after me, the laughter of the strangers around us echoing throughthe darkness.In a cl ichéd way, I was worried about getting caught.You dunked me under and then lifted me up, your naked skin sl ick against mine.The strangers splashed water over us as you came in to kiss me.

Elegy

she lived in a wastelanda grotesque realityplagued by monstersmurdered by madness

each laboured momentbreathed in wild abandonher inner war fought,her mind a labyrinth

she walked for yearswith her pockets fi l led with stoneswaiting for the tideto sweep her away

in the enda homemade noosean empty parkand a handwritten letter

Moments

1 .I t's a hot and humid Bangkok night, the streets quiet in the aftermath of a pre-monsoon thunderstorm. Televisions can be heard as we creep through the backstreets dodging cats and rats and broken paths, to the il luminated conveniencestore across the way. The clerk scans my goods, my water and beer, and carriesher late night workplace gossip through the shelves to her friend in the rear.

2.The first day of my 26th year I find myself on a cargo boat in a small Thai townapproximately three hours out of Bangkok. The sky is grey and the school kids arerunning back and forth along the concrete pier, yel l ing and teasing and playing.Later that night we're alone on the beach, and except for the l ights of the squidtrawlers in the distance we're in utter darkness and I can feel the complexity andenormity of the world enveloping me.

3.There's white sand, and clear blue water. The smell of fermented fish and opensewerage and the heat rising from the asphalt. The air is thick and sticky andseems impossible to escape. There's nothing to do but sit and talk and smoke anddrink. I t feels l ike an endless cl iché.

Chardonnay

remember the night that i drank three bottlesof cheap white wine all by myselfduring the floodsthat ravaged brisbane for a week

you tried to call me like ten timesstuck on the other side of the riverwhile i had passed out,obl ivious to everything

and when i woke up the next morningsore and sorryi saw your messagesand for the first time realised

that you loved me

My Parent's House

My parent's houseis white breadand International Roastwith ful l cream milk.

Doing the dishes right after dinnerinstead of letting them sit for days.

Trying not to say 'fuck'Hiding my tattoosSlow internetEndless telemarketerson a home telephone line.

Always "what are you doing on your phone"feeling l ike a teenagereven though I 'm 26 years oldand other people my age are marriedwith babies and mortgagessti l l trying to seek their approvalfor reasons i don't understand

Running errandsAlways an endless l ist of errandsWho has so many errands to run?

Game shows and the six o'clock newsPossums in their roof that they can't get rid ofLong nights alone listening to those possumsafter my parents went to sleep at 9pm

I t's All About Foresight

i 'm thinkingabout how you would have had to:

go out and buy the ropeabout how you:

went to a store and looked at the choicesand decided which was bestto suit your needs

i’m thinkingabout how you would have had to:

pick the placeand how you:

would have to know which tree was high enoughand sturdy enoughto suit your needs

i’m thinkingabout how you would have had to:

make sure that it was clearthat it was no accidentno rash decisionor moment of panic

JustSimpleCalculatedPlanning.

Me IRL

I have crooked teeth and freckles on my shoulders and I 'm not graceful in the wayI eat stone fruit.

My hair is dry and more often than not I get dandruff.I ’ l l take 20 photos of myself and then delete them all anyway.

Sometimes I snort when I laugh and then try to make up for it by either beingcompletely si lent or total ly loud for 1 5 minutes or more.

I 'm never NOT multitasking. I 'm not self-discipl ined and I 'm always missingdeadlines.I 've been known to go for days without brushing my teeth or hair.

I eat in bed and not just “occasionally”.

I stay in the bath unti l the water is lukewarmAnd my skin is so wrinkly it feels l ike it wil l fal l offEven though I ’ve got mould in my shower, and the trashcan in my bathroom is ful lof blunts.

I sing off key, and not in an endearing way.

I overeat and complain about my looks.Then spend days in bed berating myself for wasting time.

Evening Solace

drawn blinds, incandescent l ightingbare feet on dirty l inoleum

she steps into the worn off-white tubthat is stained around the edges with a grimy mould

there is a heavy weightthat makes her shoulders tighten,

her head pounds, and stomach churnsshe breathes deeply, with purpose

the water so hot it leaves her skin pinkshe rests her forehead on the cool ti les

patterns on the wall older than herselftrying to quiet the inside of her head

Untitled

when i left youall i could smell wascancerand defeat

the smell fol lowed me homeacross two state l ines

and everywhere i wentthere was deathinthe air

paypal: biancamartin1 01@gmail .com