Helen Cottesmore

May 19, 2008

(first draft of a piece I’m working on – will blog about it later)

Helen Cottesmore,
lived in the back of beyond of Suburban Travesty.
Before she was born – no one asked her
if she’d like to live in a place where
old dears hung
their tan toned tights
like limp prosphetics,
and false teeth rested
on the thin blue ledge of next doors porch
where men would garden and women talk
in close knit huddles, complete with the scaffolds
of upright trolleys and barking dogs.

Helen Cottesmore,
Lived with her mum and her absent pa
Who ran out on them both when she was a child.
and now she was 12.

Helen’s mum, went to the hospital every month
To see a doctor who gave her pills and talked a lot,
about the people who lived – down the road
and came in the night with knives and tails
around their heads like the tribal warriors
she’d seen in her book about genkis khan
and machetied warlords. She’d shown her mum
and her mum had said
they looked just like them,
apart from the shoes

But Helen’s mum,
didn’t always see things
like everyone else.

Helen Cottesmore, wasn’t very fond of the place that she lived.
She’s didn’t like the paving stones and the neatly mown verges
That stretched down the road like intros to houses,
And made her think of the tufted backs of furry animals
Like catepillar monsters. Or hairy snakes.
She didn’t like the mad old man
that told her off for picking the daisies
She didn’t like the boys
that kicked their balls like hand grenades and
called her names when she went to the shop.
She didn’t like the woman
that came from the church, she didn’t like her skirt
or her hairsprayed bob.

But Helen Cottesmore
Liked the man from number 1.


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