Messenger

The green light of Facebook messenger

That means you have something to say

To me.

Not quite

The emereld orb that Gatsby poured over

Desperate to salvage a broken love.

The hopeful gazing and symbolic constant

Of that light, that water, that girl.

Not quite

The way he loved her, obsessive

Ownership, grappling and too strong,

Waving arms trying to hold on to a love

Made of water. Slippy, moving, free.

Not quite

The years of waiting, desperate undertakings

Of every single decision made

For her. Her face everywhere.

Her life force in every dusty corner of him.

Still

You have something to say to me.

My smudged screen the telegram of today.

My LED green pin a poor imitation

Of Daisy’s pulsing light across the bay.

Too foggy. A lost kind of way to love.

Ah well

Don’t shoot the messenger.

Feathered Arms

Compliments stick to me like post-it notes

On my skin. And even when

The handwriting’s faded

The corners have curled

Sentiment’s gone

People have changed –

Still I waft and flutter my

Bird-like man-made pastel-coloured feathered arms

Trying to shake them off

Clean them, pull them.

But my Brain city exudes the strongest of glue

And flap as I may, still firmly they stay.

But I saw one come off yesterday.

It peeled from my skin, painless

And did a floating waltz to the ground.

I couldn’t tell you what it once said, or

How I once felt when it was said

Because stubborn Brain

Try as you will, you cannot

Keep every receipt in your crammed till.

So I’ll stop flapping for now –

I was not born a bird –

And softly know

I’ll see more and more fall under the

Strength of time.

And god knows Brain,

If you want to speed it up,

Dust, mop, purge, we are due a spring clean.