The Deadest
I appreciate truth and new beginnings; I’m happy
to go off the rails. I seldom treat myself
to the hard stuff, but let mundane tasks pile up
while writing or drawing over midday pints
of Long Man, Long Blonde; light golden hops.
I’m in the deadest pub; three pints down. At the next
table she unfurls, stretches towards me; slides onto
the seat opposite mine. I shuffle salt and pepper like an
incompetent magician, consider how long it’s been since
I was seduced by a woman. I want to speed towards
the finish line, but she makes every word a luxury. In my
head glitter balls spin, platform shoes stomp
the night away in an outbreak of seventies
flares and velvet jackets. I never expected love letters,
just letters of resignation and exasperation at my greed.
Karen Little (kazvina) has exhibited her art internationally, and is widely published as a writer in the UK and further afield. Her latest publication is the illustrated pamphlet, Dissecting an Artist (2019) with The Black Light Engine Room Press.
atriumpoetry.com 