I wish I were a horse carefree,
I would gallop everywhere and winny!
I would leap over avalanches and swim a lake,
And never be told that I must rake!
I would gallop and run on and on with my friends,
And never be told I must feed the hens.
I would like so much to be,
One of the horses in the pictures that I see;
But God has made me what I am,
And I know it must be all part of His Plan.

                        **~Marian~

A lovely Barry Hodges poem

People think that Calais is just a charming port on the flat French coast
Replete with exquisite restaurants patronised by English visitors
Who have crossed the Channel to get a decent meal for once,
And who want to take advantage of the wondrous *savoire vivre francais,
Even though they will get wittily insulted for their English accents.
There is more: the town has some of the finest late 40s architecture
To be found anywhere in the western world, spontaneously thrown up
After la ville ancienne was 95% flattened by the gallant but clumsy Brits
In what is still patriotically referred to as "La Libération".
But there is yet more to this gourmands' and cheap ***** buyers' mecca:
Believe me, I know, I have suffered a grievous and terrible loss there
When I blundered into a cheese shop on the Rue Royale one summer's day.

My companion that day was my dear fifth wife,  Winifred
(a four foot high but stoutly built ***** with a major speech impediment),
And, being attracted from five streets away to Maison Le Merde,
The world-famous fromagerie, by its unearthly overpowering pong,
My dear one, my lovely ****** spouse, dragged me through the door.
Choking back a desire to gag, she started stammering away to M. Le Merde,
Trying to order a couple of hundred grams of Carré de Mort Absolue,
When Mr L.M lost his rag totally and assumed wifey was trying to mock him
(How could one have known Monsieur was the French stuttering champion?)
And so he took out the cleaver he habitually kept behind the counter
To deter English tourists from stealing his cheesy comestibles,
And severed Winny's darling head in a single fell coup de grace
Which left her dramatically shorter than she previously was.

I managed to escape a similar dire fate by running like the clappers
And hiding in a nice toilette publique (femmes) while he stampeded by,
His mighty chopper in his cheese-impregnated Gallic paw.
And when I reported the matter to the gendarmerie, were they sympa?
They were no more helpful than seins sur un taureau fou
And insisted I should pay for the funeral there and then in advance,
Threatening me with a real good thumping dans mes **** should I decline.
Dear God, I shall have to use a different entry port to France next time
(although sur le grapevine I hear Boulogne is a bit of a dump),
But at least there aren't so many ******* would-be refugees.

there was that one day
i spotted you in the distance
my eyes were like feet in quick sand
they were quickly sinking into your soul
feeling your warmth
like a chilly autumn day when the wind is blowing but the sun is shining down on your face
something was missing
it needed to be filled in.. like that one blank spot in your "winny the pooh" coloring book
i needed someone who could maybe complete me
i needed someone who could maybe help my heart that looked like swiss cheese that was dipped in a smoker's lung
DARK. BLACK.. and EMPTY.

What she would do
To look like a model
As she dreamed of being a size two
And having a figure like a bottle

For how she hated having to always ask for something bigger
Since dress carriers never seem to have her size
The feelings of which she hated became her ultimate trigger
Of what has yet to become of her thighs

My thighs
My thighs
She would say with a saddened look in her eyes

My waist
My hair
I remember her screaming, "Why doesn't he care?"

Or maybe it wasn't that he didn't care
Maybe it was the fact that he could never stay
Or maybe he had never even really been there
Although she desperately wanted him to look her way

As she use to tell me how her mind would riot
About all the bad things she had ever done
After having been on diet after diet
It was never really like her to stick to just one

One
One
I remember wanting to run

That first day when I saw her *****
It was the first day I learned of her eating disorder,
Of which I tried telling her she was as beautiful as a comet

As she could make anyone's spirit rise way above the sky
If only she would notice the happy souls smiling from above
Always stopping to tell everyone hi even if she could have just said bye

Bye
Bye
It took me months to realize her smile was a lie

And yet it still gives me chills
To think of her last haunting look
As she overdosed on pills
And here I was thinking I knew her like a book

Her every word, her every line
I should have paid more attention to the word skinny
Of which now if I ever talk about regrets of mine
One of them would be that I didn't tell her that she didn't have to be mini

Mini
Mini
I had been Piglet to her Winny

For I was perfectly fine with being in the background
So long as she was somewhere near
It kills me now that she isn't around
To hear me say that I miss her here

Or of how she didn't need that boy
All she ever needed was her own admiration
I only wish I could have given her that joy
Or had done something more to prevent this situation

Situation
Situation
It's worth the confrontation

It's worth noticing your own suspicion
Of their depressed moods or severe loss of appetite
Just please don't be afraid of making that decision
To finally show the darkness some light

Or else they could very well be like my friend
The one whose life seemed to be planted in the gym
Of whom I never thought her life would end
All because she would have done anything to be slim

Zgadzasz się, mówisz,
że wyjąłem ci te słowa z ust.

Tak, dosłownie.
I w przenośni.
Zebrałem się na odwagę.

Nie boję się deszczu, nocy,
ni burz.

Tak, jestem winny bycia
marzycielem. Cóż.