The Strangest Dream

Hello

I'm currently surviving the day on around an hour and a half of sleep in the receipt of some rather painful news last night. Tiredness makes spelling words like tiredness really quite difficult as it turns out. Anyway, I managed to use some of that time in the dark writing today's little number. Not a talking animal in sight...think I must be coming down with something. Queue sadface.

I had planned some kind of extravaganza for the fact that I'm halfway through my challenge (yay!) but I just don't have the energy. Here, have this picture of two blobs:

Day 20, roll on two.

In Your Wake

I bob like a piece of churned up rubbish.

Your new lovers lean over the side

and vomit on me, making my struggle

for the surface that little bit more acidic.

You have set a course for sunset, and as far

as I can tell, you’re making good progress.

Is it wrong to root for icebergs?

To give my vote to stormy weather?

You were always inclined to wash over me,

but once the crest of the wave had fallen,

I was left drowning and dishevelled.

You were always a stronger swimmer than me.

Particular Activity

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.