07-04-2011, 05:30 AM
"To the last, I grapple with thee; from hell's heart, I stab at thee; for hate's sake, I spit my last breath at thee." - Herman Melville, Moby Dick
my nana thinks I'm too hateful.
over lunch at the baker's a fortnight ago,
as she sipped her coffee
and I my orange cola,
conversation turned to the British underclass.
(outside on the street and between the tables
life continued. An endless revue of prams
and wheelchairs, petty arguments, true love.)
rising from the chintz bedspread
of my feminine restraint, I unleashed hell,
hushed and bitter, demons with fingers
on their lips poking pitchforks through windows.
in the world of my words the neighbour woman,
who I hear of a morning swearing at her kids,
beating up her new boyfriend
or else being beaten by him, is shackled in a carriage
on a ride through the gates of Dachau.
we finished our drinks
then walked the high street,
I trying to salvage some humanity.
trapped inside the braziers of my foundling hate,
I saw her face through blackened grates,
rippling like stoned puddles.
***
EDIT: Last verse changed after comments below were posted. Originial:
I think she realised though
that this was all just passive rage, like car thieves
cursing their jailers, a tenant sticking pins into
a voodoo doll of his landlord.
my nana thinks I'm too hateful.
over lunch at the baker's a fortnight ago,
as she sipped her coffee
and I my orange cola,
conversation turned to the British underclass.
(outside on the street and between the tables
life continued. An endless revue of prams
and wheelchairs, petty arguments, true love.)
rising from the chintz bedspread
of my feminine restraint, I unleashed hell,
hushed and bitter, demons with fingers
on their lips poking pitchforks through windows.
in the world of my words the neighbour woman,
who I hear of a morning swearing at her kids,
beating up her new boyfriend
or else being beaten by him, is shackled in a carriage
on a ride through the gates of Dachau.
we finished our drinks
then walked the high street,
I trying to salvage some humanity.
trapped inside the braziers of my foundling hate,
I saw her face through blackened grates,
rippling like stoned puddles.
***
EDIT: Last verse changed after comments below were posted. Originial:
I think she realised though
that this was all just passive rage, like car thieves
cursing their jailers, a tenant sticking pins into
a voodoo doll of his landlord.
"We believe that we invent symbols. The truth is that they invent us; we are their creatures, shaped by their hard, defining edges." - Gene Wolfe