Monday, November 11, 2013

The Plastic People (A Poem)

What I remember most
Is how well they loved
The hard plastic bodies
Of one another.
How the unsaid words
Would keep their eyes open
Come every Sunday,
Time spinning it’s frozen,
Nimble halves into the lightless
Corners of each room
Like a sundial mother
Gathering her young,
Savior of the darkest moments,
In a pixelated rubber
Of forever after.
I remember how their
Long holidays never ended,
The stories their purple
Painted radio stations told
Of an Iraqi war and
The midnight blood baths
Of tiny, soldier men
Who roamed the desert isles
Of some other country.
They would tip their
Unreadable bibles,
Pink lips frozen
To undecipherable Gods
In black corner clouds,
They were as alive
And breathing as me,
Behind the perfectly-painted
Shutters and always-summer
Where when they dreamed
They hoped for better
And the hurts they felt
Were anything but imaginary.

Written for  a prompt at Dverse Poets.

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