"imitational" poems
Anne crutched her way
from the large house
onto the lawn
where you sat with your sister
and a girl called Monica
recovering from burns
can anyone sit here
or only two legged freaks?
she asked
you don’t have to be rude?
said Monica
shut your mouth Scarface
and pull me up
a ******* chair
Anne said bluntly
you mustn’t swear
Monica said
I shall tell Matron you swore
go **** a lemon
between you legs
Anne replied standing
pulling a face
Monica and your sister
got up from the small white table
and ran off towards the swings
and left you gawking at Anne
and at her flowery dress
which came to her knees
revealing space
where a leg should have been
had your look?
Anne said looking at you
sitting in the chair
sorry
you replied
just realized
you’ve only got one leg
well stop gawking
and pull me up a chair
she said
you got up
and pulled out a chair
behind her
and she sat down with a sigh
and you sat down again
still ******* hurts
even though its not there
she said giving you a stare
what happened to your leg?
you asked
it went for a walk
and never came back
she replied
pour me a glass of juice
she ordered
and you poured her
some orange juice
into a tall glass
and gave it to her
thanks for being a saint
she said and drank a gulp
of juice then put
the glass down
on the table
and you still stared
at her missing leg
when she said
want to see the stump?
And with that
she pulled up her dress
and showed her stump
and the outline
of her white underwear
you looked at her face
and flushed a little
she pushed her right hand
through her black hair
and smiled
you should be honoured
it’s not everyone
I show my stump off to
or my ******* either
she said in a Mae West
imitational voice
thank you
you muttered softly
still carrying the image
of her leg stump
and white ******* with you
as you looked away
at the sun coming over
the tall trees and gulls
flying in the blue
morning sky
and apart from the sound
of the sea there was only
her deep painful sighs
and you (imagined)
her staring
deep blue eyes.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 1:58 AM UTC
I am that helpless fly struggling to break free from a spider's web.
The one that awaits inescapable predetermined death.
I am the moth who quietly hovers above a candle's open flame.
The one who could care less about if its wings caught fire or hadn't.
I am the girl.
The one who silently sat by as her heart shattered within her chest;
pain filling her.
Pain that bore a familiarity to the first time she gained hope that everything would turn out for the better.
I am the girl.
The girl who would carelessly make the mistake of letting you back into her conciseness.
The girl, who no matter what she progressed through, continues clinging to the fondest fleeting memories.
Ones that only, with imitational happiness, shroud the grief and agony she has been put through.
I am that foolish girl,
who even after all this time still welcomes you with
open arms and tear stained cheeks.
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 4:39 PM UTC