thejunkyardprocession revamped | Page 55

Sparklers There is no word for this: Listening to you say the same thing over and over and over and over and over circling the room, chopping out chunks of heart and if not me, then who? There is no word for clearing out the empty nest bedroom, finding the tube of Strawberry Durex Play covered in fluff under your daughter‟s bed, like a Pritt stick with the top off. There is no word for not minding; after all, he made her happy until it snapped her like a twig realizing he wasn‟t going to be the one, before she glued herself back together. There is no word for this; Although the Greeks had about 20, pondered by sculpted men with porn beards; But they weren‟t lashing out at you because I‟m sad about him. There is no word for this; Under tutting stares in Farmfoods Her smile is like the Northern Lights, Patiently lugging her Special Boy‟s siren deadweight, Her hair snatched back in a second. There is no word for watching someone fade as their life peels off like a wet label, as this feeling drags its clueless club foot up endless stairs, foaming at the mouth. There is no word So I can forget knowing anything. It makes as much sense as his wife‟s cancer or controversy in the chip shop queue, or you taking turns pushing each others‟ wheelchair. No word. But if I take a deep breath, there it is, like us waving sparklers at a frosty night sky, 55