Tonight's Poet Corner: Wailing of the Walls
Wailing of the Walls by Belinda Roddie The patchwork girl, she sits and spins the cobwebs in the corners. Dust is dust, and tiny legs leave tiny prints across the wood, as rotten as an overly ripe fruit. Not even the termites will find a hearty meal in the cellar tonight. Your hair splits both ways, gray as Zeus's lightning. It's lost its luster; he is old now, and tired. Even his beard has lost its static beauty. The broken clock you left behind is wet with loose wine. Earthquakes have depleted your supply of happiness. Stale pills are not a good substitute in the dark. The bottle's dry. The hearth has burnt out. There is no warmth. There is only the distant keening of widows in black shawls, trapped between the splinters of your walls. Frayed postcards. Rusted souvenirs. Going, going, gone.