Saturday, January 28, 2012

The BFFs hit their late 30s

For Z
She lives on the island
of our shared childhood
Something is making her sad
She's been brained
By the gods of trouble

An ocean is not impossible
We could go for gold
In the telephone olympics

If days were dealt
Like hands of cards
I used to get
A royal flush of her

Now she draws
A two of kids (and me a three)
There's hearts and spades
(labour, love)
Not many diamonds between us

And now she's clubbed
Oh gods of chemical sadness
Watch out
My voice is in her head too


  1. Sob! Thank you Nell! Your voice is indeed in my head, often. So far I'm feeling like I can flush out the chemical sadness with force of will and self-talk. I'm on the up right now. Perhaps I'll nurse these cycles forever, but I think I can keep them from gouging too deep too often. xxxx

  2. Oh lovely. That last verse brought a tear to my eye.

  3. These poems are really great, Penni. Thank you.