Behind mum’s feet

Standard

Instruments_créés_par_Pierre_Fauchard

I’m trailing home behind mum’s feet,

A surly hamster with cotton wool cheeks,

Blood blossoming, face numb,

Metallic taste on anaesthetised tongue.

 

I have been all too good

And brushed as hard as a good girl should.

I’ve kept too many to fit my face,

Earning four teeth pulled and a lovely brace.

 

One, two, three, four, out they all came,

The bone-crack splinter-shriek engraved on my brain.

The feet ahead slow, and mum turns to her child:

“Now come along Caroline, you could at least smile.”

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s