I broke my wrist last week, so haven’t really been corpus mentus on the commuter poetry front.
Back now though:
Outer space backpack, supernova shoulder strap
Yellow-green explosions painting her with sassafras
Secrets of the universe asking for a piggy back.
Black hole seeks like soul
For fun times and ‘mo,
Must enjoy watching me swallowing your goals.
Holes in her black jeans,
Acutely angular Wranglers hanging
Knock-kneed at the knee seams
Obtusely obscene, if you know what I mean.
Sitting in a coat the colour of old cream,
Faux fur from a gopher that drowned in a stream
Hands in the pockets of a shabby polar bear
That’s sprawled out on the seat.
Umbrella at her feet, Cinderella at the door
Picking out the pumpkins she wants to take to court,
Sporting New Balance bought fresh from the store,
Shiny from the rain drops falling outdoors.
Precipitation precipitates her choice of threads of course,
Can’t prepare, laissez-faire,
Tries to balance a blank stare
Atop those skipping stone cheeks,
Flat, round and pallid, like you’d find at the beach
But always out of reach, like an acne cream
For the marks on her cheeks.
Adolescent hieroglyphics fade over time
Once goaded by rhymes,
Childlike innocence bang out of line.
P’raps that’s why
Her bangs hang over her ears:
All the better not to hear you with my dear –
But pull back the fringe, so she can see me
Seeing her hurt, seeing her pain.
Thought the tears on her cheeks
Were nothing more than rain.
Stories On The Sofa 