Poem of the Week

Disposable Alice

She wasn’t much
one for words
but if you knew
what to listen for
every drag spoke volumes
of inhaling
her own mortality
drawing it deep
holding it in
waiting
for cursedly unfrail flesh
to weaken
betrayed by youth
as she stood
miasmic and longing
for this
self-inflicted erosion
to wear her down
crushing
the futile remains
beneath heels that had
nowhere else to be
until
the next opportunity
came along
to barter
this unwanted lushness
for a stronger poison
or whatever
she could get
as long
as she had to stick around

~HC
9/22/19

An online friend took a picture and let me write a poem about it.
 
 


 
 
return to Words