This is my story.
Laughter and the sea
gave way to studying and peace-keeping.
There was a loss, but we kept going,
the same as before, minus a member.
Studying turned into dissatisfaction
with the institution, the law, myself.
So the change was made,
the textbooks were replaced with Keats.
The English department didn’t want to take a chance on a quitter,
so I write.
just as surprised,
to hear of your husband.
So tragic! So unexpected!
He always seemed so happy.
What did he have to be depressed about?
Anyway, the girls send their love,
and we’ll see you at Thanksgiving!
Claws in your shoulder,
fur tickling your ear,
your arm straightened,
the paw stretched further,
towards the delicious fishie suspended from your fingers…
I said frisbee, Mrs B,
throw us the frisbee!
What do you mean you’re busy?
Yes, I see a tile’s fallen off your chimney.
It was probably that ball of Christie’s.
Oh, Mr B’s taken her to the city?
Then I guess you can keep the frisbee, Mrs B.
“not fit to be seen”
Such a queer expression.
On streak of mud, and you’re not worth a bean.
Your value restored when you’ve gone upstairs to freshen.
Why does society treasure being immaculately clean?
It may seem like an odd question,
until you are deemed “not fit to be seen.”
Invented word by word,
he tells his story.
It’s exciting, daring,
with a romantic subplot,
and a monstrous dragon to fight,
a dragon that was slain,
only due to the sacrifice of his homework.
so Tom believed,
in aliens and patsies,
in crop circles and faked moon landings,
in tarot cards and tea leaves,
in fad diets and the ether,
in telepathy and pyrokinesis,
but he found the concept of resurrection absurd.
Suffocating under her fur,
you push her off your face,
gulping in the slightly stale air of the bedroom.
She mewls at you.
You roll over: it’s too early.
If you come shortly after midday,
you’ll see the sun sparkle on the bay,
you’ll see the trusty donkey bray,
you’ll see Mr Mathieson, and his pots of clay,
you’ll see the sky slowly turn to grey,
as the farmhands gather the hay,
you’ll hear the sweet song of the jay.
I’ll just take a little bite,
as my trousers are a little tight!
If you’re sure this will fix my blight,
then who am I to fight?
Oh gosh, my head feels a little light!
I really don’t feel right…