I also wondered that when he got home hhis was still there! P
-----Original Message-----
From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On
Behalf Of Max Richards
Sent: 13 September 2012 06:24
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: Re: uncanny snap
This is a remembered experience well worth developing into a poem, I agree.
It would suit me - fit me - better, if I had early on a sense of how long
ago this took place.
I am guessing it was a jacket first fingered, but maybe you want to keep me
guessing.
turns out it's a loveheart!
also it's an outfit - maybe that's two garments? no, it remains singular.
Bill, I want it mended!
and since that time? you yourself gave it to charity?
On 13/09/2012, at 6:39 AM, Bill Wootton wrote:
> Flicking through the clothes rack
> at the local op shop
> my fingers felt a familiar
> texture. Gossamer light,
> so sleek, so smooth
> and there, exposed fully
> on the rack,
> nestled
> amid the black,
> a red loveheart.
> Just like mine,
> I breathed.
> But wait,
> at the shoulder,
> a little tear.
> Odd.
> So that's why they're
> only asking twenty
> when I know I paid
> a hundred.
>
> But what
> is this... feeling?
> That tear is not
> close. It is
> exactly
> where mine is.
>
> It
> IS
> mine.
>
> ...the fuck
> is going on here?
>
> Then it dawned.
> Mum.
> She'd donated
> my sexyland outfit.
> Bitch.
> I explained the situation
> to the op shop girl,
> who might have nodded
> knowingly and yeh yehed.
> But no, she let me take it.
>
> Now it's home again.
> I hold it up on its op hanger.
> How mine is it?
> The black shoulder
> droops
> at the tear.
>
> But it's been away.
> The little vixen...
>
> Bill Wootton
> 12.9.12
|