Love’s Thunder Or Crying on my Piano
Stripper heels , French nylons, a bottle of Jack, and Cobain on rewind ,
dust balls line the wooden floors with gauzy trails of powdered sorrow ,
and your eyes meet mine behind a wooden photo frame
I laughed at all your words and saw notes of love
on your palms ,
secret wishes made the days sparkle
but you were just a wish
floating like a cloud in an old paper bag .
Ketchup Kid
Her day was punched with silence
and shredded with hand me down promises ,
only ten summers young and already her dreams
are splintered with hate,
through the filmy curtain of her left eye ,
there is a coral ring of sadness ,
it weeps across the school room desk
and scoops her into the arms of misery
———-
She ate cooked rat on Sunday ,
her mamma told her it would be okay
but the scabby hump of her intestines
had already made her puke three times ,
yellow chunks of phlegm
glutting her tender craw
——–
In the canteen, she copied Bernadette and
jammed 18 free ketchup sachets into her pocket ,
She would mix it all up later ,
they called it hill billy consommé,
it left a sweetened trail of squalor
in her maiden mouth
——-
Home was a burnt out Lincoln ,
she was meant to be in heaven with her Barbie doll , Casey J,
just another ghetto abortion statistic ,
bloodying the sidewalk ,
but her mamma changed her mind
——-
Mr Weezer , let them use his trailer in exchange
for favours
and creepy dress up games ,
he had a golf ball size cyst on his cheek
she wanted to jab,
his breath smelt stale
like warm beer pooled with
cigarette butts, and lard
his lips were greased with evil
—–
She would sit alone at recess rocking
herself to sleep
the chairs were comfy
and the sun filtered blinds
warmed her cold fingers ,
she avoided the fish bowl stares the
other kids hurled her way ,
and retreated to her
make believe castle,
decked with pink balloons
and Minnie Mouse dresses
spotted with candy balls
of glitter
—–
Her one friend Ellen got taken away ,
‘child services,’ they said
Ellen was capped with bruises on her twiggy arms,
above her eyes ,
and on her back
they left wheels of blue ,purple and whitish green ,
on her fragile skin like climbing snap dragon ,
she missed Ellen’s goofy laugh
and the way she drew violet unicorns
with indigo eyes
————
As winter came and the trees shimmered in pearly soft silks
and the leaves sang on the breeze
she dreamt of a real Thanksgiving dinner
not pop top beeferoni
but a sit down meal with soda
and even a Christmas Tree ,
on Fridays, she got her weekend
snack pack from school ,
but that didn’t stop her
festering need for normality ,
she is the canker sore of
fetid greed
a shameful statement on the landscape of
red, blue and white
the banner hatred of the poor .
Is that the triumphant call
of those stars and stripes
that blister the lonely Vegas night ?
***
Saira Viola is a critically acclaimed best selling fiction writer, poet , satirist and creator of literary technique sonic scatterscript . Most of her work is infused with undercurrents of social commentary , and philosophical arcs . Her trademark style blends: prose, fiction pop culture , and a smart , spiky wit that permeates a never ending range of controversial topics . She has produced two collections of poetry “Fast Food and Gin On The Lawn,”
which hit top spot in the US and UK Amazon satire chart twice and her poetry has been published widely on both sides of The Atlantic including IT International Times magazine, The Kitchen Poet, Dissident Voice, Poetry Times, The Canon Mouth, Artvilla, Crabfat, Dead Snakes, Longwood Press Push magazine , her anti war poem “Flowers of War,” was published by the Stop The War Coalition UK. Viola continues to pen the literary walls with pyretic prose and can sometimes be found under the flutter of a butterfly .
Jukebox: A thrilling crime satire eBook: Saira Viola: Amazon.co.uk: Kindle Store
|
Such visceral lines .
LikeLike