I'm here to lie and look beautiful

When I have children I will be
ancient beyond counting and wield infinite power
with unimaginable cruelty.
I will go on epic journeys in infernal machines
which spirit me away to the exotic lands that lie
at the other end of the motorway.

These journeys will be epic.

I will travel to the edges of infinity and return
with brightly coloured plastic parts which,
fitted together correctly,
make nothing like a car.
I will pretend that my life is as interesting
as their small scale makes it seem,

that I was once the sort of person who
woke up naked on foreign beaches
and ran faster than the police,
whose lives I held like spun glass in the cup of my hands
and who, along with everyone else, I spared
in my infinite mercy.

(On my more deluded days I clench
my fists into bitter balls as if to crush
the glass that isn't there.
I bite my nails to the quick and squeeze).

When I have children I will probably be declared
an unfit mother. The law
will see my ragged palms and hand
my babies to some girl, some smiling woman
with scraped-up hair and too much truth
who will betray them with the closed fist of her kindness.

scooters, vacation, fall

There's something in rushing out early
with your hair wet and your make up off,
dressed in the clothes you spent the night in.

Something in the way the creases concertina
round your joints, the folds of your favourite
positions. Something
in the smell of sweat gone sour and warm, of dirt
and home, the way they crumple
like brown leaves, brittled
by their winter between doors
on the bottom of a boot
creased tight in the corner of a checkered floor,
as you sweep out into the spring.

Open the windows.
Let the light rush in.

*

I will probably edit this later, and probably badger people as to whether "light" or "fools" works better in the last line. Until then, yay! Something new!