Wow, I knew her, I knew her very well. Instead of tattooing her name across
my heart I tattooed the word "Broken" and the sun still wears away the
yellow paint to those bricks that holds those memories.
Neat. Do you poets ever do the immaculate corpse where someone writes a
verse and everyone ads on?
On Tue, Jun 2, 2009 at 10:27 PM, Max Richards <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> Snap: Her Old Room
>
> At her parents’ pale yellow brick house,
> she said:
> ‘Come upstairs, you’ll like
> the room I spent my childhood in.
> See:
> nothing’s changed (except the wallpaper) -
>
> I looked out over these trees (smaller),
> pouring my young soul into poems and essays.
>
> Here’s the sofa bed, designed for this room,
> the whole late art deco symphony,
>
> the diamond mirror, the oak veneer panels
> still glowing, the curved window glass.’
>
> ‘No wonder’, I said, ‘your parents heard
> their house would suit that fight-game movie:
>
> the 30s, hard men in fedoras,
> the good time girl whose heart is broken.
>
> I read about it ... wish they’d said Yes.
> However bad, I’d have enjoyed the movie.’
>
> ‘Hearts are broken in every decade’,
> she said, ‘this is where one grew.’
>
>
> Wednesday 3 June 2009
>
> Max Richards
>
> North Balwyn & Doncaster,
> Victoria, Australia
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> ------------------------------------------------------------
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>
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