Pages

Tuesday, 30 October 2012

Death of a Sisterhood






The beer garden, attentive, heeds the warning.
Armageddon is planned.
She
ignores the threat of battle for
She
has no quarrel. 
Regret dismissing it
She
will for a time.
For time in the garden was leisurely spent
with wines and beers
that smouldering summer
She
wants to forget.

The kitchen, always welcomes, but not so today.
Forced calm greets
Her
then verbal rage detonates
discharging
Her
through the door. 
A torrent of mindless abuse
lands squarely on its mark.
Fast, cold hands and
stern words force
Her
back inside
hailing more heat,
a tirade designed to fell.        
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             
The table, deserted, perceives innocence
spotting the set up
that others will spurn.
She
the vulnerable
marvels as war is waged.
Ambushed,
bile rises,
no vocal defence
against the low brow
with more reckless
stories trespassing all truths.

The sitting room, shaded, feeling the pain
allows kindly
benefit of a settee.
It desires
Her
Sparkle
Her
chatter but
She,
confused by combat
is muted
as betrayal runs away with
Her
voice.

Suffocating. Overwhelmed.
She
freezes. 
She
waits.

The wood burner cries out to offer some warmth.
It sees
Her
shrink, cease
unable to defend
Herself
as the lopsided
fight is lost.
The shallow, surveying the ruins
though pleased,
lays waste one more hour
and muffles a sorry.
It vanishes
and soon, so does
She.

Her bedroom instinctively throws Her a lifeline.
Nil by mouth,
choking on sadness.
Her
clash now concluded.
Serenity tends to
Her
broken wing,
a patient nurse
now Armageddon
is done.

Sleep comes
sunrise liberates.
The pains
of yesterday’s chains
gone,
gone for good,
along with those that once shackled
Her.


This poem is linked to Small Town Stew With Molehill Dumplings (see 21st Oct post). Different day, same sh*t. This was the day that I decided enough was enough with these so-called friends, so I ended it.

4 comments:

  1. Great poem Wendy. Love the punchy repetition throughout. This one smacks of you, so it does :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Can't believe I've done it again. Put mine up as a comment rather than a reply (I think). Bloody tchnology.

      Delete
  2. Oh thank you so much Vicky. Not a great subject though. It really was up there in the top ten worst days of my life. I found writing the poem very cathartic. Mind you, I do write most of my best poems when I am distraught. What a ruminator? x

    ReplyDelete
  3. Most poems come from a strong emotion......

    Boo hiss to the impetus, but YAY to the poem, and the survivor. xx

    ReplyDelete