Love’s Thunder Or Crying on my Piano / Ketchup Kid – by SAIRA VIOLA

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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,”

“Mini Rebel Book of Poems”, the crime satire Jukebox
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: Kindle Store








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