Monday, 1 November 2004

The Smell Of Loneliness

So I spent some time over the weekend blog-hopping, lingering here, commenting there, like a bee pollinating the flowers of the universe, like the Billy Goats Gruff going trip trap trip trap trip trap over the bridges of the blogosphere. There’s a lot of weird and wacky stuff out there. And yes, I met some trolls.

Have you ever met those people whose loneliness is so palpable that it almost emanates from them like an odour? I found this poem I wrote about someone I used to work with back in the UK. Don’t worry, I’m not giving up the day job.

Yellow Hair
A thick curtain of brittle yellow hair
drawn across windburned temples.
Foils every six weeks
half head every six months
and the whole shebang for Christmas.

Cup after cup of tea, and maybe a slimasoup;
click your heels together hard enough you might find you can fly.
Corrie, The Bill, more tea, but no biscuits.
Nails neatly filed,
M & S meals in the fridge,
must meet the girls on Friday.

But Sue’s with Paul
and Jane’s depressed
and the heel’s snapped on your best shoe.

Never mind eh, good telly on.
Settle down,
draw the drapes, shut the world out and yourself in.