She’s an offence
looking to be taken,
a deprivation
eager to be felt.
He puts his foot in it
innocently again,
is surprised again
by the sudden
sobbing reproaches.
Petite, shapely,
curly blonde
girl-next-door,
she looks happy
and as pretty
as a Christmas angel.
She looks sweet,
uncomplicated.
All she wants, she says,
all she longs for,
is her father’s love.
She stabs him repeatedly
and twists the knife.
[Poem #73]
This began as a game some bloggers played in 2008, to write about people who'd made an impact, in the same number of words as one's age, every day for a year. I did them less often and went on longer, adding one word each birthday. I stopped in 2016 and incorporated them into my main poetry blog. In 2019 I resumed the project and gave it its own blog again, with a new name, where it may unfold at its own (slow, intermittent) pace. I've labelled these verse portraits, but they're more like quick sketches: mere glimpses, impressions....
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