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Friday 13th March 2009 - Spring

Posted by threeleafshamrock on March 2, 2009 - 02:37
from the ABC set shamrock's ramblings

He sits looking from his window
No spring in his step
He watches that bastard Pettigrew
Edging his lawn; crookedly!
He’ll be replanting his geraniums
Now the frost has withdrawn its offensive

Pettigrew catches him in his peripheral;
Stops the work and raises a hand
He doesn’t reply; can’t if he wanted too;
Wouldn’t acknowledge that prick anyway.
The stroke he suffered has paralysed him!
His right side no longer compliant
His left; twitchy and unserviceable
Unable to hold his penis for a piss;
The catheter painfully inserted by
That fucking she-male district nurse
As if she were putting a valve in a football,
Served to drain waste from his bladder

They talk about him as if he wasn’t there.
‘Can he hear?’ he hears them ask.
‘Does he understand?’
They bend down staring into his face
His eyes tell them to ‘fuck off’
He drools, wishing he could spit at them.
Rather than wasting it; dribbling onto
The towel draped over his shoulder;
Catching more undisciplined waste.

‘Friday 13th March 2009’
He’d never been superstitious
Hardly worth starting now; too late now!
He had dug up that old Beech root;
Had been threatening to for years!
Nearly five hours it had taken
The effort had left him trembling,
Shaking; breathing in gasps to
Replace the oxygen his heart
And brain demanded; too much!
Pettigrew hanging over the fence;
‘You won’t shift that’, he had voiced
It had driven him, empowered him
And ultimately nearly killed him.
Nearly? He WAS dead; as good as!

Best neighbourhood garden!
He can just about see the rosette from here.
It had been bright rose red and vibrant
Faded now to ‘Butterfly Weed’ orange
He should be planting those now;
Early spring for summer blooms.
He had bought the seeds to plant
In the place where to root had been.
They sat in their packet in the greenhouse.
His daughter brought him there daily,
Mostly when she came from work.
She thought he liked it; would leave
Him for an hour or two; sitting there
In the middle of what was once his kingdom.
Torture; pure unadulterated fucking torture!
The weeds sneaking a peak over
The rim of the empty window boxes
Laughing at him; watch me grow,
They goaded, fearless of their former assassin.

Spring; don’t make me bear the summer, he prays

Discuss this piece in the abctales forum


Comments

Richard L. Prov... | March 2, 2009 - 04:16

I like your imagery. This poem is good. Suggestion: Use of street language inappropriate for writing of this caliber. NONE of the good journals would ever print that kind of language. Perhaps for bastard, use 'nasty.' For 'prick' replace with 'grub' or 'snot.' The gutter words take our eyes off the great writing skill you have. Read the poetry in online journals such as: The New Yorker; Agni; Ploughshares; The Dublin Quarterly; and Apollo's Lyre as examples to get a flavour of great poetry writing. Best wishes! Richard LP

threeleafshamrock | March 2, 2009 - 08:44

Thanks Richard, comments taken on board and much appreciated. Cleaned up language; seems to take some of the natural anger of the 'first person' insular directive aimed for but certainly sanitized for public view.

Chris

jennifer | March 2, 2009 - 08:50

Capital 'M' for March! (proper noun)

Intriguing write...can't help but thinking the genius is lost because it is a bit too wordy...you are 'telling', not 'showing' (my own greatest flaw as a writer!)

J x

Ewan | March 2, 2009 - 09:04

I think the coyness over 'street language' is almost entirely restricted to US markets.

Make your choice by considering what's most effective in the poem is my advice; 'publish and be d_____!' doesn't have much impact for me.

threeleafshamrock | March 2, 2009 - 17:12

Thanks folks! I agree Ewan and am changing it back. I feel it is too sanitized and has lost it's punch. The expletives gave a rawness that I wanted and I suppose the bottom line is; I just don't feel like I own this...changing now!

threeleafshamrock | March 2, 2009 - 17:16

Thanks for your help Jen ;)

MistakenMagic | March 2, 2009 - 18:23

I agree with Ewan, and with your choice to return the 'street language'. The expletives give it that edge so we can really feel the bitterness and frustration - makes the character more believable!

I loved;

'The weeds sneaking a peak over
The rim of the empty window boxes
Laughing at him; watch me grow,
They goaded, fearless of their former assassin.'

and

'That fucking she-male district nurse
As if she were putting a valve in a football,'

An intriguing write Chris ;)

Magic xxx

threeleafshamrock | March 2, 2009 - 18:33

Thanks Magic ;)

Silver Spun Sand | March 2, 2009 - 18:46

I totally agree and I'm so glad you stuck to your guns ... although we all have different ideas,
but I always think we should be true to ourselves.

Speaking of truths, there are many in this rather earthy poem - no pun intended as a matter of fact.

One has to have been there, I guess, to know exactly where this is coming from, if you get my drift, Chris?

A very worthwhile read. Thanks.

Tina x

threeleafshamrock | March 2, 2009 - 19:51

Thanks lovely Tina ;)

Dynamaso | March 9, 2009 - 01:25

I really enjoyed this, mate. There is so much about it I like, particularly the grittiness. I'm glad you 'unsanitised' it before I read it. I can't imagine the cleaned-up version having near the same impact.