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Poetry - 2002

In the process of play - a reading for Julia Davies

Casualties of games we play

lie like enactment scenes from a dramatised movie

there is no going back,

these games are for real boy

there is no ordinary doll

You boy, you in black

You with the spectacles that looks, but can't see

Why does your hair stand on end?

Is there a cold chill down your spine

When you meet the face of death

Or an adrenaline thrill that spurs you on?

Don't you understand?

the pink frilly wrappers and bows

of the birthday gift

that hid the new doll

thrown out in the rubbish heap

long ago

innocence lost

there is Never going back

Virginity can never be reclaimed

Least of all your own

Precious life never rekindled

Newness is soiled in the games you play

Blown up in fiery shards of spinning shrapnel

That can take a hand off in a blink

Imagine the pain of that for as long as you might live

The blood in the sand, the tears, the anguish

Never being able to hold another hot grenade

Pull the pin and throw it at some poor shit

This is a black evil dirty game with a final result

No chance of re-enactment

You boy, you in black with destruction in your hand

Don't you understand, Mad Old Alice is dead

We buried her at sunset

© Lloyd Godman