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The Cliche Kid
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Carol Ann Duffy
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I need help, Doc, and bad: I can't forget the rustle of my father's ballgown as he bent to say goodnight to me, his French scent ... Give me a shot of something. Or the sound of ma and her pals up late, boozing, dealing the cards. Big Bertha p*ssing out from the porch under the stars ... It gets worse. Chalkdust. The old schoolroom empty. This kid so unpopular even my imaginary friend left me for another child. I'm screwed up, Doc, jumpy ... Give me a break. Don't let me pine for that first love, that faint down on the cheeks, that easy laugh in my ears, in my lonesome heart, the day that I had to leave... Sweet Jesus, Doc, I worry I'll miss when a long time dead the smell the smell the smell of a baby's head, the fresh-baked grass, dammit, the new-mown bread ...
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Ton pseudo sera publié. Laisses les champs vide pour rester anonyme.
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