Here they come

bursting out of the stainless steel showerhead circular yet rigid

from punctured wounds a fraction of a millimetre diameter browning at the periphery,

spraying a body this child cannot feel.

Her faculty fails to formulate the questions

for answers  are intangible,

and her conquering numbness cancelling out this paraphernalia

For good she hopes

‘You are a vulgar creature’ her grandmother squawks in dignified disgust

Her grey crinkled chip eyes can only safely digest on her pious ground

Such a menacing gaze settling upon the child sullenly distracted

sucking congealed gravy from the side of a knife.

For good she hopes as she watched her mother undress

thinking of her coffin and what  she ought to wear

what would they sing

would Cat Stevens attend?

In the shower she squats clutching her knees

rocks to and fro upon the wrinkling balls of her feet

imagining herself  as a  hen

unable to preen her reddening plumage.

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