Peter Pan Versus Captain Hook
My friend vouched a theory that all men were either
Peter Pans or Captain Hooks. I don’t know about you but
I know where I stand. Look what that bastard did to poor Wendy;
Tinkerbell too. I’ll have no truck with flighty boys.
Give me instead the feel of steel on my thigh,
the screams of pirates trapped in the boo-boo box.
But most of all give me the whispery hair under the wig,
the gnarled hand, the hook trailing red lines down my abdomen.
He pulls my hair, holds his hook to my mouth, then, suddenly shy,
his mouth. No thimbles in sight. Finally, a real kiss.
Waiting for the Post
End with Amen or a clap?
I get confused.
I lose my place.
Is this a circle we’re standing in?
Are we standing stones?
Is there magic here?
I think there are things in here with us.
A Jack-in-the-box, purple corners,
An incessant buzzing.
Bruises on our knees.
And as we look we find bruises everywhere,
blue and black from front to back.
I remember when outside meant away
and I was always a stranger,
alien and wild in unfamiliar streets,
erupting from my own womb.
Can’t you see my footprints
on the ocean? I’ve been here before.
Was it for a long time? Or a short time?
I don’t know.
I don’t remember much.
Reality flinches. I pull my knees up.
Balance on the surface of things.
A waxed stare. Bleached fingers.
A postcard sent from Feltham.
A broken branch on lavender seas.
A silk hat, a felt slipper.
and things I wanted.
Published in Charismatic Megafauna (Penned in the Margins, 2009)
Read more about Tamsin and Charismatic Megafauna here.