Boomerang

I was sixteen,

Father was fifty.

I was ill,

Mother was at work.

Father came home early

To check on me.

I asked for hot cocoa,

He made it for me.

Handed me the cup,

It slipped off of me.

I cried like a child,

Sobbing, “Sorry, Daddy”

He said it’s alright,

And wiped the spill.

Years went by,

Father was sixty eight.

I was a grown woman,

Father got sick,

He was in pain.

I brought him home,

To keep him company.

Drugged and confused,

He asked for a juice.

I held the drink to his mouth,

The straw slipped with a splash.

He said, “Sorry dear, I am weak”

I said, “It’s okay Daddy, sometimes,

We all get a little sick.”

Advertisements

Satisfaction

Something that he had forgotten,

It was uttered in disorientation.

It was etched,

Upon his very being.

Still lived,

After eons in his mind.

Hiding the loss,

Smiling at guilt.

That white line,

He breathed in,

Happiness, still remained,

Unknown.

Incoherence

Tired, broken, lonely.

Demons in the mind.

Ugly dance of chatter,

Needles in the eyes,

Wine in the spine.

Dreams of bare bones,

Sinister, frightening.

Six feet under, motionless,

Lies a thought of sunshine.

Minutes, hours, days,

Rainbows turn black.

Traffic and tall buildings,

Smells of the netherworld.

In this monstrosity of May,

There is a rumble of rain.

That skin

Yes, it’s the same colour. 

Time machine,

Whirred back,

Naivete reigned. 

Stars in the eyes. 

Blurred and clear, 

The heart was a harp,

The steps, frozen in the muck.

Bait, hook and fish,

Reeled in without a wiggle. 

Dragged on for minutes and hours. 

Weeks and months and years and decades. 

Signs, dreams, signs and dreams,

A cynic grew, like a fruitless tree. 

Thanks to that skin. 

That skin..

That skin makes mine crawl. 

I wanted everything and now,

I want nothing. Except that skin..

 

Stupid Sunglasses

Stupid Sunglasses,

I have so much to say.

The message is lost,

Let’s try another way.

You had a loose screw,

It needed tightening.

Part of you broke,

You kept on finding.

In a moving car,

On a hilly road.

You jumped about,

You burst out.

There was no need,

For all that fuss.

You blocked the sun,

And now you have no son.

Like I said before,

The message is lost.

Just like the sunglasses,

A bow to my blindness.