By Kirsty Mealing
Flesh on the slab
There's something bout the steel
That makes her pale look drab
The way the curls fall
Undisturbed
By breath or words
Makes me feel sad.
I almost thought she had
More bones than that,
More spines intact
“She was pretty”.
It dribbles out my mouth
Like an idle ditty
There's static in my eyes
And my brain feels gritty
“A pity
You see that,
D’you say it
When she was
Living?”
They're giving
Their gloves a
Plasma coating
As they go in:
Insides oblige
As silicone
Clacks with absence.
A ghost town
Where perhaps,
Consumed by better,
I'd plagued-out the good
With rotten wood
To build this house.
Now, too late, I see
How her bags barely carry
Her baggage,
They dip softly.
She doesn't bulge,
She undulates like loving sighs.
There's no colour
And yet her skin mourns not
But sings:
If only peace wasn't earned this way.