The Sarah I see
is at most just the ghost
of a girl I knew well
and a woman I wont.
She’s got two Neptune eyes
in two cold yellow holes,
a tambourine rattle
and a tin whistle throat.
Sarah is sick
of seeing something I don’t,
sick of waking each day
sick of wishing she wont.
She’s got curtain rail shoulders
and glockenspiel ribs,
four spider leg limbs
and two steel drum hips.
Sarah lies on her side
between two yellow sheets,
She closes her eyes,
and the salt water creeps
from the cracks at the sides
of her two Neptune eyes,
And her tears all collect
in her reservoir cheeks.
Sunday, 8 February 2009
Wednesday, 4 February 2009
Sunday, 1 February 2009
Sally Anne
Sally Anne hit the jackpot in a second hand bookstore,
A ‘how to’ guide to palm reading and other pseudoscience.
She thanked her lucky stars, thanked the alignment of the planets,
And she emptied out her pockets for that book, she had to have it.
Sally Anne was something of wannabe gypsy,
She had the rags, the rings, long brown ringlets of hair,
She had a face too near to pretty to be easily passed by,
She was something of looker in certain kind of light.
Hey Sally Anne.
She loved her man.
Oh Like only
Sally Anne can.
One thing she never thanked the stars for, something she never really asked for,
Was the lumbering lump of a man she had be lumped with out of chance.
In his sleep he’d drool and dribble, and when it mingled with his stubble,
She’d try her best to take her gaze from his wet sandpaper flesh.
He was no better once he’d woken, he kept his hayday tucked away,
Somewhere beneath all the years of TV repeats, gristle and beers.
Sally Anna was thinking of him as she rode the bus back home
And how he’d frown upon her purchase, “and oh well,” she thought,
“What does he know?”
Hey Sally Anne.
She loved her man.
Oh Like only
Sally Anne can.
She was so engrossed in her new book she nearly missed her stop,
Her nose was so deep in it she was sniffing up the words,
Breathing in the teachings and meaning of the world
According to the author she was beginning to adore.
And when she stepped out of the bus, squeezing between its sliding doors,
She couldn’t bare to tear here eyes from her new bible as she walked.
She almost walked right into lampposts, almost fell over a pram,
She was learning how read her palm and looking at her hand.
Hey Sally Anne.
She loved her man.
Oh Like only
Sally Anne can.
Eventually she had to stop it, she searched her handbag for her key,
The texture of the leather like her husbands swollen skin.
Worn and sagged. All cracked and lined.
But nowhere near as useful as her bag had ever been.
Then Sally Anne walked in and saw him, his eyes gued to the TV
And his arse sat and cemented to his thrown of PVC.
And a curious thing struck her, an idea rang around her head
She took his palm in hers and this is how it read:
The heartline non existent, the headline hardly there,
And you didn’t need his hands to see he'd never had success.
And then our Sally started laughing, laughed so hard she nearly wept,
Because according to the lifeline he had three weeks left at best.
Hey Sally Anne.
She loved her man.
Oh Like only
Sally Anne can.
Hey Sally Anne.
She loved her man.
Oh Like only
Sally Anne can.
A ‘how to’ guide to palm reading and other pseudoscience.
She thanked her lucky stars, thanked the alignment of the planets,
And she emptied out her pockets for that book, she had to have it.
Sally Anne was something of wannabe gypsy,
She had the rags, the rings, long brown ringlets of hair,
She had a face too near to pretty to be easily passed by,
She was something of looker in certain kind of light.
Hey Sally Anne.
She loved her man.
Oh Like only
Sally Anne can.
One thing she never thanked the stars for, something she never really asked for,
Was the lumbering lump of a man she had be lumped with out of chance.
In his sleep he’d drool and dribble, and when it mingled with his stubble,
She’d try her best to take her gaze from his wet sandpaper flesh.
He was no better once he’d woken, he kept his hayday tucked away,
Somewhere beneath all the years of TV repeats, gristle and beers.
Sally Anna was thinking of him as she rode the bus back home
And how he’d frown upon her purchase, “and oh well,” she thought,
“What does he know?”
Hey Sally Anne.
She loved her man.
Oh Like only
Sally Anne can.
She was so engrossed in her new book she nearly missed her stop,
Her nose was so deep in it she was sniffing up the words,
Breathing in the teachings and meaning of the world
According to the author she was beginning to adore.
And when she stepped out of the bus, squeezing between its sliding doors,
She couldn’t bare to tear here eyes from her new bible as she walked.
She almost walked right into lampposts, almost fell over a pram,
She was learning how read her palm and looking at her hand.
Hey Sally Anne.
She loved her man.
Oh Like only
Sally Anne can.
Eventually she had to stop it, she searched her handbag for her key,
The texture of the leather like her husbands swollen skin.
Worn and sagged. All cracked and lined.
But nowhere near as useful as her bag had ever been.
Then Sally Anne walked in and saw him, his eyes gued to the TV
And his arse sat and cemented to his thrown of PVC.
And a curious thing struck her, an idea rang around her head
She took his palm in hers and this is how it read:
The heartline non existent, the headline hardly there,
And you didn’t need his hands to see he'd never had success.
And then our Sally started laughing, laughed so hard she nearly wept,
Because according to the lifeline he had three weeks left at best.
Hey Sally Anne.
She loved her man.
Oh Like only
Sally Anne can.
Hey Sally Anne.
She loved her man.
Oh Like only
Sally Anne can.
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