Archive for election night

Based On A True Story

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on December 13, 2019 by dc

In the corner of an old
Dilapidated mansion,
Two dusty mammals
Farted a thought into a jar,

They added spittle and pubes,
Skin cells and
Sunday roast meat cuts,
Then screwed the lid shut.

Nine months later,
Ripe with mould and strange spores
It was ready to wobble
And coagulate,

The large dirty jar
Could hold it no more,
It was born on a table,
Laid out for just one,

It wriggled and winked,
Fumbled and strayed,
It stained all the linen
And roamed round the fruit bowl,

It emanated
Stuttered grumbles,
Guttural pops and loosened burps,
Squelching as it evolved.

Keepers came to watch it,
They whispered ideas
And trained it to move
And gesticulate,

They rolled the pink blob
Through a mound of fine cloth,
Whispered mantras in Latin
And taught it to talk,

They gave it anything it desired,
They plumped all its pillows
And said they loved all
Its drawings and endless random questions.

Its childhood was a painting,
Its adolescence was a film,
Its twenties spawned a dozen kids
And its thirties spoke of doom,

By its forties it was destined
To shuffle to the top,
And now its fifties sing the hollowed croon
Of a mistake we cannot stop;

And it’s only now we ruminate,
Sat underneath a painting
Of that old nameless mansion
And the creations it used to house,

Powerless by request,
Confused and all full of regret,
Fretting over the future
As we shift like silhouettes,

We connect and rhyme in shifts,
Drift then slowly moan,
Waiting for the next jar
To steal the old blob’s throne.