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sandra wyllie Apr 2021
dark
it is light in another place.
Snowflakes melt on my head.
In another spot the sunbeams
bob like a sled.
Far as a distant star

Where there is
weeping
people are smiling rainbows
and dancing on unicorns
in my neighbor's yard.
My grass is honey-mustard,
burnt as custard.
Only high fences
between us
and locked screens.
Still, I see their
full lawn of forest green.

Where there are
starving men and woman
people are filling their faces
with caviar -
two-hundred dollars a jar
traveling to Monaco
in their polished, furnished yachts  
while I'm throwing dice
playing Yahtzee.
This world we live in
is crazy.
sandra wyllie Apr 2021
water in the porcelain
bowl hanging on a chain
that’s hooked from a nail,
driven in a tree. Doesn’t see

the grey squirrel
scurrying for a nut. Or hear his
scratching claws breaking bits
of bark off.  He’s kicking his feathers

up in the bath. Sitting back I
laugh at his reverie. He’s painted
golden by the sun, a treasure
to see.  As he frolics, a red carinal

joins him. Fireworks of drops shoot
off from their tails. Snapping a picture
to frame the scene. Leaning forward,
I glean a smile. Bubbles rising in

the air. The water level
dropping. The bowl’s
bare. It will be filled to the top, once
I push my *** off the chair.
sandra wyllie Apr 2021
as the clothes in the closet, cramped
and draped in dust, wrinkled,
a colored speck in a container
of sprinkles. Waiting for a

woman to slide the door,
to emit a light into this chasm
of black -
just to pull out  a shirt
to slap on her back. I don't

like lying flat, burned by the bottom
of triangular steaming steel. Steam
billowing above me as a locomotive. No, I'd
like to have my red lacy self displayed

in the Macy's window
for all to ogle and aah. Pay the price
to take me out all night at the Ritz's
bar, compliments hitting me like martinis

in the glow of a new year's eve,
from a pair of blue eyes
called Steve. If I'm stained and
a mess after the party -

I've been ad dressed
and lived hearty!
sandra wyllie Apr 2021
you! You and all
your complaining. You growl
as a badger and screech as
a bat. You’re aloof like that

of a cat. You're indolent as
a sloth. And as for your promises -
you've broken every troth. You've
the morals of a snake. You've given

me only heartache. You drink like
a fish. You're despicable as
a rat. To me, you're just a spolied
brat!  You're wrinkled as an

elephant. And flabby as
a walrus!  And about as chivalrous
as a mouse. So, get out! I don't like
you! You're old and ugly too!

I'm divorcing you -
myself
I'm taking it in my hands
to rid me of myself!
sandra wyllie Apr 2021
her red lace, push-up, underwire
bra. Remembering the days
she didn’t wear a pretty contraption
that's useless beyond a confining attraction.

She slipped on
her spiral silver hoops. The holes
in her head match that of
her bed. She fills them in with
trinkets she picked up at the five-and-
dime, when she's not penning rhyme.

She slipped on
her stained apron to do
the cooking. None are booking her
for poetry readings. Her poems are
as her leftovers -
stale and cold.

She slipped on
the water that sloshed
from the cat's bowl
onto the floor. Fell on her *** -
sat and relaxed.

She slipped on
by his house without
a visit. She paid him many
in 2005. Now all she does
is hang outside.
sandra wyllie Apr 2021
in a cockle shell
after finding him rolled up
and peeling in the drawer. I swore
to preserve his memory in glass

and not coffee stains. I cut it neatly
to sit in the frame. In life he didn't fit
so trim. But in death he wore a large
*** grin. He sat with his grandson

on his knee. They looked like cherries
jubilee. Before his cancer and
grandson's near death/before his wife's
last breath. Before the ambulance came

to the house, and wheeled his wife
and grandson out. Before his break-down
and residence in the asylum is this picture
of him smiling.
sandra wyllie Apr 2021
stuck in my shoe
preventing me from walking
the piece of food
caught in my tonsils
preventing me from talking
the sand pooling my eyes
preventing me from seeing
the gale howling through my window at night
preventing me from sleeping
the collar attached to the leash around my throat
preventing me from moving
the pillowcase over my head
preventing me from breathing
all of this, mother –
preventing you from loving
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