she's got a face like a 1990's beauty queen
high waisted shorts
hair pulled over the top with a miniclip
gun tucked in the back
miniclip
on the front of
her blouse
setting them up
knocking them down
converse allstars that she paid $50 for
grazing the rocks by the waterfall
that she poses in front of

dear 1990's beauty queen
you'd like to be innocent again
but your brown eyes
are locked and loaded
it's just a small trick of fate
that you were born in this decade
the girls here are machine gun prima-donnas
and you were born into them
your high-waisted shorts
won't let you out of it

Do we dance to this song 
After we've said our vows and I do's?
Will you hold me close
In your white wedding dress
And stare into my eyes
As they brim, beholding you?
The melody waltzes on.
Is this our farewell, 
Departure and heartbreak in 12/8 time?
Will we say our last goodbye
As different tears fill my eyes?
The melody waltzes on. 
Will I crumble inside 
When its haunting soundscape 
And splashing cymbals come to mind
And I remember what I had?
The melody waltzes on. 
Somehow I can't discern
Whether the rhythm is truly made for dancing;
It mimics a runner's perfect pace. 
Are we running away or toward each other?
The melody waltzes on. 
Is it a rendezvous or a cry of surrender?
Is it me bending down on a knee
Or hanging my head in defeat?
Is it everything I've wanted
Or what I have when all is gone?
The melody waltzes on.

It seems that time must fly
For once I scoffed and said
"Never in a thousand years..."
But here I am.
I told you once, "forever"
I promised you, "forever"
And yet, forever somehow came to pass.

I thought I'd never leave my home
I thought I'd never be alone
But now I've crossed these empty lands
And I wonder why I left
And why things had to change.

Now, I sincerely miss you like hell
And I have nothing,
Not even a hope of hearing you smile.

Starting now, I vow
To never make another promise
Or think about the future
For the things I held so close
Were the first to shatter on the floor.

Polly wants to sleep more,
but the bell
from the church
tells it's time
to get up.

Susie's beside her,
just beginning to wake,
opening her eyes.

She smiles that stupid smile,
Polly thinks,
remembering her cold feet
against her legs
in the night,
her arms about her waist.

If only it was Master George's
hands about her waist,
his feet on her legs.

But he is at war,
some cold wet trench.

Susie sits up
says something
about wanting to turn over
and go back to sleep.

Polly tries to push thoughts
of the day ahead
from her mind.

A maid's work
is never done.

Fires to start,
cleaning to begin,
breakfasts to help prepare,
on beck and call.

If only Master George
was home,
she could look forward
to his bed at night,
his arms about her,
his lips on her skin.

Susie looks at Polly.
She had managed
to get her arms
around Polly's waist,
feel her skin on hers.
She had wanted
to kiss her neck,
but refrained.

Temptations always there.
Watching her undress at night
getting ready for bed,
seeing her standing there,
semi bare, waiting there.

She remembers her lips
being just inches
from Polly's back,
her lips wanting to settle
on Polly's shoulder.

Polly sits up,
pushes the blankets back,
and sits on the edge
of the double bed.

Feet dangle, hands in lap.
The chill air about her.
The wash basin
on the washstand.

Break the ice in the jug,
cold wash.
*** first
in the chamber ***
under the bed.

Susie watches Polly's back,
the way her body
narrows in at the waist,
her bottom on the bed,
her hands in the lap.
She sighs softly.

Polly gets out
the chamber ***
and squats.

Susie looks away.
Closes her eyes.
She can hear
the musical sounds
of water on metal ring.

She kissed Polly's arm once
(pretended she was sleeping)
Polly pushed her lips away,
muttered words.

If only she'd let her
kiss her just the once.
She could store it away
and bring it out
and relive it each day.

Polly stands up
and goes  
to the washstand
and breaks the ice
in the jug,
pours water
in the basin,
washes quickly.

Susie watches,
eyes searching Polly,
taking in each
aspect of her,
each inch of skin.
If only Polly would relent
and let her in.

Polly dries
on the rough
white towel,
face, neck,
arms and hands.

She peers out
of the attic window.
Cold dawn.
Light beginning.

If only Master George
was in bed
instead of Susie,
if only,
then she wouldn't be
so fed up
and bed time lonely.

I rise with the morning bell, said Sister Agnes; I hear it now in my ears. It rings in the ears and heart. The window shows dawn just about to come over the cloister wall like a mischievous child about to play forbidden games. I sing in choir with my voice absorbed by the voices of others and the walls of the church. I walk the cell like one waiting to die; listen to the birdsong outside like one wanting new life or life renewed. Sister Blaise is in the cloister garth walking with the birds, the morning chill resting on her black serge shoulder. I watch her walk; her feet tread like one on eggshells. Her hands hidden beneath her blackbird breast, her head bowed like one at prayer. She has birds at her feet, St Francis like. I shall leave her, kneel in prayer, and climb the stairway to contemplation. My father's tears settle on my sight; his voice broken; his eyes looking out at the garden where once we walked. He would have had me stay at home; dry old-maid fashion at his beck and call day and night as my mother did until cancer dragged her weeping to the far beyond. I shut my lids against the dawn; press my lids like one seeking blindness to the harsh day's light. My brother, George, sits in some Paris café talking of art and painting his oil-drench canvases in his back street studio. Father talks of him as one who is lost. Both of us are lost to him, each in their own way. George cares not; his art and women are his all. Thoughts push their way through the curtains of my prayer; they are rude and unclean; they are ill bred like the children my mother despised. I rise from prayer like one defeated. The light from the dawn blesses me with warmth; my flesh touched like one in love. I look at Sister Blaise and her birds; her hands are open like one crucified. Her rosary hangs from her belt; a thousand prayers cling to each bead. Last night I saw her kiss the feet of the stone ******; lay her hand on the Saviour's head. Holiness nests in her heart like a white bird in a dark bush; she shall hold me in my dim hours. The bell rings once more; its echo vibrates my ears and heart. I was happy when I entered your house; your handmaiden shall attend your needs. Prayers escape me; liturgies are my food and drink; my beads shall be my stones of pain. My aches shall be the nails to crucify me in my dark hours; my Christ bleeds in my monthly death. All shall be forgiven. The stones shall break my bones; the words pierce my fleshy heart. I shall go now; descend the stairs for dawn time prayer. Night flees me like one unfaithful to a lover's kiss.  I come.  My bridegroom

Forty years ago
She wrote me a note
Insubstantial
But ending preciously…

‘only yours’

In fountain ink
On a scrap paper
Written surreptitiously
But passionately
On a break period
Delivered through a common friend
And there wasn’t enough privacy
So it seemed
To read it alone
And not enough strength
To unfold that first call
Till the eyes
In youth’s first thirst
Spread it
In the stolen reflection
Of streetlight
In trembling hands
Barest words
Yet infinitely precious…

‘only yours’

She couldn’t be
For she was
Destined to be someone else’s
And leave me nothing
But her everything
In those two words
Time couldn’t stale…

‘only yours’

She
Possibly now a grandma
With everything
For she left me nothing
But two innocuous words
Barest infinite
Her everything
Mine too…

‘only yours’.

I’m nothing more
Than a bore
As all my stuff
Are shitfully sad
Can’t make you laugh.

I’m just a plain bore
For almost always
I knock your door
With a mourning face
Not finding laughter’s address.

I wish I could write stuff
To make you rollingly laugh
Belly ripping laughs
Choked in coughs
Yet never enough.

I’m a bore
A failure
Time and again
Only sketching sadness
Pity
Deformity
Never giving you a laughing recess.