A poem by NATALIE ROOM.
Gauze-pressed face reads from left to right,
as pillow prints leave a chess board of uniform wrinkles,
forming black and white checks of chef’s trousers,
Don’t dare move right eyebrow, the knight’s horse
who neighs “Ow-ow” as his jockey’s thrown three forward, one left.
Don’t ruin it!
Instead stare, silent battleship
Let mouth whimper ‘til
“Timber!” goes nose, slips down two and
sunk is the vessel.
Lips part and into the Bermuda triangle slips the bridge and
swallowed, gobbled, and what of the pawns?
Black-heads sprouted, one row only, poor defence.
Each the soil of a moustache hair and so,
Pluck Pluck Pluck – – – disperse!
A-sexual reproduction only please, God, no ingrowns!
Garden pruned now, plump earth for pore picking.
Flesh-burrowing sprigs, nipped by the frost, didn’t make it.
Only daffodil trumpets survive to bellow “a pimple! a pimple!”
SQUEEZE and they all fall down, he loves you not: all petals withered.
Is it clay underneath? Well I can’t plant on clay! No wonder it’s
oozing dew. Oily oily and so blot blot blot goes the sponge, must moisturize,
mouldy soil is no good.
Almost time to paint the face.