Lynn White

The Curse of Consumption

I can hardly remember my early life

when I wiggled and wriggled 

embryo-like

blindly 

consuming

all before me.

I know I sensed the warnings

not to bite off more than I could chew,

but consumer of cliches that I was,

I carried on regardless

making a meal of everything

I could swallow,

even the words.

I could feel 

that

change 

was coming

and eventually

it happened!

I made it happen!

My curse became a blessing

and I broke out 

of my hard carapace,

split open the shell

that had become my prison,

did my best to leave it behind

to have a look at the world outside

and continue my cruise of consumption.

Nothing was sacred

I ate it all

and grew fat,

so fat,

too fat.

So fat I felt ready to explode.

And then it happened, 

I swear,

it was like a nuclear explosion

inside me

all the dust and debris of decadence 

solidifying 

into something unspeakable,

mushrooming

into something unintelligible

to be spewed out

of my big accursed mouth.

I don’t know what 

will become of me now.

I don’t know what

I will become now.

First published in Cajun Mutt, February 27 2023

Dragonfly

It was so beautiful,

gleaming huge and iridescent

gold and green and blue and black.

With wings that should have been clear,

filled with shining rainbows 

not like this, twisted at strange angles 

and dulled with sticky silk.

Not stuck there waiting

to be prepared for some spider’s supper.

I held it gently 

and took it from the web.

I carefully removed the sticky silk

and saw the rainbows sparkle as they should,

saw it’s eyes brighten and gleam 

with the prospect of freedom.

It took a while, this disentanglement,

a delicate task to free this fragile creature.

And when it was ready,

I opened my fingers and

let it fly away.

It bit me then.

No parting kiss,

but a bite that

left a bruise.

Such gratitude!

First Published in Foxglove 2017

Carousel

Round and round, 

go the galloping horses 

round and round and up and down

with smiling faces on the merry go round.

But as time passes

and smiles fade,

gaudy colours 

become drab,

faces pale 

and worn.

look,

they’re 

all

disheveled 

now

lurching

and 

staggering

round and round

on the 

treadmill

of the merry go round.

Round and round.

Round and round.

One more revolution

and they may be ready.

Ready to bite the hands

that refused to feed them.

Round and round.

Round and round.

Only one more revolution,

to sharpen up the teeth. 

Round and round,

just another revolution

on the not so merry go round.

First published in Alternate Route, Issue 8, October 2022