By Finnuala Simpson
Sweaty slimy sticky thigh
Nothing more exciting than that truly
I’m thinking sinking feeling
And why my grandmother’s funeral wasn’t very good
Why my dad stood up and said, she could be a hard woman
But she was so soft that she flopped over
Became fluffy like a dandy flower
I’ll bet I’ll never get another
They said: so wide you can’t get over it!
So low you can’t go under it!
So round you can’t circle out of it!
But life seems like some sick prank
So I stare into windows watching steam from pastas
Ninety-nine easy dinners at seven
And I’m sure not looking for any reason to mourn
So why do cars and cats and roots keep on flying? Like they don’t even need us? Like I’m here today and gone next week?
My grandmother said something about two moons in the sky while I was on the stairs sucking my knees
The extendable feather duster could tickle you exactly there
And white lies over wall plates
And time flies all over the place
I’m a hush
You’re a busy hush
We’re all hushes
