Subjects of Denial


My hair is clean and brushed and smart.

Hers is drenched and dirty.

I am wearing cosy clothes.

She is bare and purple.

I'm inhaling bluebell air.

She is breathing fire.

I am watching pixellated subjects of denial.


I am strong and tall, unbowed.

She is weak and wailing.

I am fifty years of age.

She is but a baby.

I have biscuits on my lips.

She has froth and horror.

I am watching pixellated subjects of atrocity.


I have eyes that blur and leak

but I am speaking freely.

She has eyes that cannot see.

She is wheezing frantically.

I am hearing grown men lie.

She is hearing people die.

I am watching pixellated subjects of denial.




◄ Not Doris Day's Armpits

Charity Begins At Home ►


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Laura Taylor

Tue 10th Apr 2018 10:56

7th poem for NaPoWriMo 2018. The prompt was to write a poem of simultaneity. This came out.

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