Hermione, Badly

Whenever, now, I think of her,
I see a blonde, but blank-faced, blur.
Though Time can heal most kinds of pain,
detergent won't budge every stain:
though wounds may mend, flashbacks remain -
like blunt-force trauma to the brain.

A tea stain on the kitchen door,
abandoned panties on the floor:
that quilt composed of c**k-eyed squares,
that sink, blocked up with long blonde hairs:
the midnight stab of ice-cold feet,
the wet patch on the morning sheet ...

Each Sunday lunchtime, Falcon Crest:
that daisy-pattern summer dress:
the carriage clock she overwound:
was there a tape of Chinatown?
We bought it when she passed her test ...
or failed it ... I forget the rest.