Hello and welcome to Day FOUR of your life.
I often like to listen in to other people's conversations when I'm on the bus and such like and today's poem is based on a little conversation I overheard. I've elaborated on most (all) of it. I was going to write a longer introduction, but Casualty is on now, so that's IT.
Preparations
“I’ve
seen a lot of things,”
said
the girl on the bus,
talking
to her girlfriends.
“Too
many things
as
far as most people are concerned.
I
once saw a wasp stinging a pig’s teat.
It
was poignant,
but
I got over it.
I
come from good stock.
I’ll
not be sent out as glue.”
The
bus was clear, light.
It
was filled with summer endings,
there
was a scent of Soltan factor 5.
“When
I get married,
I
want everything to reek of perfection.
If
anyone spoils it,
I
will have them slaughtered;
brutally
and immediately.”
Their
bags were stuffed
with
bridal accoutrements.
When
one of the friends
reached
up and scratched her arm,
the
other said, “Don’t do that,
you’ll
ruin yourself before my big day.”
“And
another thing,” she continued.
“If
you wear a yellow dress
with
a white cardigan,
you’ll
look like a child.
I
don’t want you to look like a child
when
I get married;
that
would be ridiculous,” she said,
painting
fast food icons
onto
her fingernails.
“This
wedding should be like a Range Rover:
as
unnecessarily large as possible.
I
want this wedding
to
make us look small and insignificant,
so
we can grow together
throughout
the marriage.”
She
held out her hand
and
admired her artistry.
“I’ve
stared at other people’s food
for
a long time.
Somehow
it doesn’t seem real
unless
I’m the one eating it.
That’s
how I know,
I’ll
make the perfect wife.”
When
they got off the bus,
they
left the day behind, the sun dipping
under
the Earth’s eyelid,
into
the strange milk of twilight.
