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.