Dancing Girl

Elongated woman – a whole head taller
Than me. In this students’ kitchen
She walks in a circle and although
Distressed, we turn away, we talk
She mutters on, clutching her winter coat
It is the beginning of June

She will not stop dancing through our lives
‘I’ll never stop,’ she cries and we laugh
We stare, turn away and look back again
She is nothing like her former self
Who sucked this girl’s essence out of her
While she was sleeping?

We did not know what to do so we turn
Our backs upon her. We are afraid but will never admit it
The muttering goes on but in our eyes
This girl is a stranger among us. We force her out of our minds
Then some thick set sensible girl stands and stalks off
I feel the silk of her skirt as she passes

Hours pass and we still sit around that table
We are people made of crystal. Distorted glass.
And the dancing girl can feel our fear
Like some ferocious dog, poised to pounce
And then the doors opens and the doctors come
To drag that mad girl away

The door closes behind them and we exhale
And we collapse in a heap of shattered crystals
Onto the floor for when the mad, dancing girl has gone
There is no one left to entertain and amuse.

Dowagers Devouring

From behind the camouflage
Of my broadsheet, I watch
Dowagers devour everything
Around them

They are corpulent dressed
In a manner that fails to flatter
Those fleshed-out physiques
Short, squat

Pink skin spilling out,
Blistered flesh in scarlet dresses
I am a miniature doll
In comparison

Through their shrill words
The world intrudes. They discuss
The latest and greatest
Conflagration

Their careless words are weapons,
Torpedoes that soar across the room
They are widows, they are matriarchs
And they wound

They wound, together, while I
Set myself apart for mine
Is a solitary heart and the divide
Is too wide

Watercolours

Watercolour trees in springtime
Lustrous, like puddles in the rain
We are not willing to do this again
The lambs shed their blood for us
Their bones will soon grace the table
These long days, move forward
They advance across pastures and grasslands
As we contemplate the emptiness, the distance

They call this discovery, they call this recovery
And I am the one the others look upon
Consuming me like overripe, pulpy fruit
I have flourished and then declined
But those who devour me do not seem to mind
Once refined, now decayed. They bite into me
My blood surges forth like an ocean.
I am still here. A monument to that red flood remains