missjonespoet

Read Horse Submission 9: Ring of Truth

Written for issue 9. Topics were Pawn Shops, Abandonment, Japan. 

See it on the website: http://readhorse.morekasia.co.uk/?p=848

First time I saw them looking at me,

I wasn’t surprised by what I could see

(What you’d expect in my price range.)

Him: Next jeans and short back and sides

Her clutching copy of beautiful brides,

Both flushed and asking if they could try me

I glint and I gleam, I shimmer with “Buy me!”

And somehow it works.

She holds me up to the light,

On her splayed hand, fitting just right

(size N- bit on the sausagey side)

Soon I am safe in my velveteen darkness

Awaiting my moment sat next to my partner

On some silk cushion, held pageboy aloft

Then nervously squeezed onto her soft

(bridal manicure, moisturised)

Fingers. Then for a second his hand lingers

Squeezing hers, his eyes certain, fixed

They’re so sure this is it, this is it

I am the symbol of all that sureness

I’m the declaration right before this

Fascinated Fascinatored audience

I’m the investment, testament

To their mutual adoration

The sun shines thru the stained glass in a glorious affirmation

Of God’s approval of their legal annexation

I catch the sunlight, for a sec

They see me glint and I reflect

The hopes of all, that love can rule

Then I’m on honeymoon

Mid-range double room

(Seychelles- quite a nice buffet)

And back home to look at the snaps

Where she carefully unpacks

The toasted sandwich maker and George foreman grill

Promises are intact, still

She gets a new job

They get a dog

Years pass, and her arse

Takes up slightly more

Of the sofa cushions

(nasty orange ones from DFS)

So long since she’s touched his skin

So long since he held me in

His hand and kissed

Her fingers, wrists, and palms

Held her in his arms

The last time he said the words “I love you”

Was slurred in her ear

After six pints of beer

And his pickled tongue

Sought only the pillows in the end

I am grimy and she cleans me at the kitchen table

I feel her sadness. I am almost able

To hear the wind sighing inside

My fidgeting fat-fingered bride

For now her skin is drowning me

I am a manacle, she’s a chained animal

A dancing bear who moves from sink to sofa

In a daze of disappointment, oh for

Things to be as full of promise as they seemed

When she and he had dreamed

Seeing me shining in my case

Now he can’t read the lines upon her face

The lines upon her brow

Like a piece of sheet music, doesn’t know how.

Then one day I feel her spirits lift

As she picks up a small wrapped gift

That somebody has left on her desk

(maltesers- cruel when she’s a stone overweight)

Then I feel her start to perk

Up when she is off to work

Wear more make-up, shave her legs

Cut down on the trips to Greggs

Smile when she takes spreadsheets in

Leave his office with a grin

Go for after-work drinks Fridays

Slug her wine and then find sly ways

She can let me graze his thigh

And I see her catch his eye

Feed her some of his spaghetti

Months of this and I grow sweaty

(and loose, like I could slip…off)

Til the company AGM

Where I must accompany them

To some nasty naff hotel

Of the kind she knows so well

Patterned carpets, plastic petals

Custard creams and small beige kettle

Yet this time it so excites her

And that night when he invites her

To his room -nine six two three-

She has the cheek to pull me free

From her left hand, and leave me stranded

In the front of her vanity case

Nestled against imitation lace

In the dark, in this strangest place

I fear what is to come.

Next day begins a tacky charade

Of placing me on-off- really it’s hard

Being wedged in a handbag, a glove compartment

Listening to her grunting ardent

Passion in his Astra

This is a disaster

Nights in Bella Pasta

Her Nokia buzzing next to me

Neglectedly

Every text vexing me

But nothing could prepare me

For what happened next to me.

I sit in the window

In the jewellery section

Next to such a sad selection

Handwritten price on dirty card

Feel so tarnished, tawdry, tarred

None of us gleam or glisten

Listen

The air is full of sadness

Desperation, and this

Price devalues me.

I am love. I am promise

Wasn’t made to sit here on this

Tatty threadbare throne

Half a pair, now all alone

Three globes swinging through the sky.

See the whole issue online here: http://readhorse.morekasia.co.uk/?cat=42