The Writing is on the Wall

The walls and woodwork

were daubed with graffiti

in the doorway where she stood:

“Elvis Presley is NOT dead!”

and “Carrot Soup is Best!”

amongst the “Call Tina or Lulu for a good time”

 and less attractive suggestions,

for Mary, Jasmine and Billy.


She had got wet walking there,

she was wetter still now,

as the doorway sheltered little.

She had got a taste of regret

and an empty feeling in her stomach

that was slowly gnawing away at her soul,

as a ravenous beast might on carrion.


She waited an hour,

three busses had come and gone;

she caught the fourth.

The rain on her face hiding the tears.

Carved on the back of the seat in front of her was

“Oh please! Don’t squeeze lemons if you don’t want lemon juice”

next to a crudely drawn cock and balls.

She smiled and thought

“Stupid prick! I deserve better!”

Lemon juice!

Bitter like her tears.



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