Tuesday, 1 February 2011

A poem and a short story and another poem


I fill up a water bottle
until the top erupts
and water fountains over
my hands. The kitchen towel
is really really dirty;
I can't dry them on that.
This thought sends me into a blind rage
I smack the bottle against the side of the sink
until it splits and showers the floor with water.

I sit down and feel it soak into my cotton trousers.

Short Story

Jack was just pouring gravy on his sausage-and-mash when he heard the thud of his sister falling from the third floor window.

Another Poem

It's snowing;
I'm going to get up really early
and bounce around outside
until no-one can look at me any more.

If I had the capacity, critical commentary would follow. Revisions may do; do sisters thud as they fall? Answers on a postcard.

1 comment:

  1. I don't claim to understand poetry, or stuff like this, or why I like these. But I do. They're weird, and contrasting, and just interesting.