On My Own (Revised)

If I had known you weren’t listening to anything
I said I wouldn’t have become upset; once I got
it into my head you only wanted to be driver or
organiser and supervisor, and not be bothered
having fun with the rest I went off on my own

enjoying prospects of dwelling in my very fertile
imagination, buying flowers, visiting a school
book fair to admire the brightly coloured covers,
going on a long walk on the beach, gazing at
washed out waves, kids playing in the surf

dreaming of being a thin sprite in a dress made
of sea water drops kicked up with my feet – not
crystal imitations, the real thing – that ought to
defy gravity – suspended like that – magnetised,
they would cling to my form; came home, smiled
at my soul’s effigy sitting on the bed –

a doll with a juvenile face I bought today – tried
to write but nerves in my hand paralysed by
vertebrae in my neck, went dead…
Saturday 15 December 2012