WORLD'S OYSTER.

A WOMAN AND HER LOSS AND LIFE.

The world’s your oyster,
Your daddy said, but he
Lied as often as a parrot
Pees, strung you out like
Wet washing. You are the

 

World’s spit bowl, the some
Thing unmentionable beneath
Their shoe, or so it seems, at
Least to you, lying awake at
Night, watching the shadows

 

On the ceiling, feeling the
Groping hands of Cunningham,
Knowing what he wants, always
Wants, the groper of the dark,
Sniffing the air, remembering

 

The lost babe, the wrapped
Shawl, white like snow, the
Dead babe taken away, bad
For business, Mrs Griffen said,
Having a child around, best off

 

Where, you’ll get over, all things
Come and go. Never forget that.
White against the black dress,
The mass, the priest with his
Pokerface features, the coffin

 

Lowered. You know the tune
Of grief, understand the wants
Of men, feel the emptiness of
The world’s shell, touch the edges
Of love’s feel, and just when day’s

 

Light pushes through the shutters,
Cunningham turns over, farts
And mutters. Some oyster, this is,
You think, some relationship, what
A dingy room, what a life, what a stink.

Reviews

[ANTO]

Its so bleak. An old fathers nightmare and a new mothers nightmare combined.
'Lowered' - one word painting such a sorry picture.
'Poker faced priest' - all too familiar.

a poignant write. I sighed thinking of her after ingesting

[Terry Collett]

Thank you.

[Phibby Venable]

So unhappy and uncertain of how to change things. You bring people to
life. The dead babe hanging like a shawl between them..the pain of the woman and the world as her oyster in such a world is so sad. Excellent writing.

[Terry Collett]

Thank you.