endings

Why do the pages keep turning?
I wasn't even done reading
And you take the book away
Saying I couldn't comprehend it anyway
Just because I read all the letters
Backwards.

So now I only read books with pictures
Because they have the fewest words
And I never ever look at the last page
Cos I don't want to get hurt

Keep your tragic endings and your bad news
I'm sick and tired and so badly bruised

I wanted to punch you in the mouth
To keep the bad news from coming out
And I know it sounds absurd
But I place the most blame on the words

Slave Narrative

I haven’t the heart for harsh imaginings.
I am the figure in the window which speaks not.
The spiral staircase that leads to nowhere.
The bit of consciousness stripped naked under
reproving hope.

I am the wondering eye beneath the awning.
I am the gossip borne beneath your daughters’ sheets.
The forgotten sense of self traded for a tiny little hand-bag
full of lies – lies, and jealousy.

I am the old woman, cane broken, whispering power.
The young man who had no lines the whole play.
The forceful bit of grace left in the crevice of
the walls of the local super-mall.

I am the broad spade on the clearance rack.
You will buy me for less than half a dollar,
never use me, then sell me
down the river, always always down the river.