Monthly Archives: January 2013

Get Your Own Dinner

If I died

you would finger paint

your menu choices

with my blood

kick my corpse

to fetch and carry

stretch my skin

into a tray

use my hair

to stuff your pillows

push shoes

on to my flaccid feet

and send me out to hunt

I am

gnawed through:

a severed cord

lying in

a pool of soured milk

Get your own dinner



Filed under Creative


You get powdered milk

then coca cola through a rubber teat

soon it’s

cigarettes and stolen beers

other girls hate you

climbing into cars with their

boys who

won’t buy you teddy bears,

cards with love hearts on the front

and baby talk inside

you do

things that good girls

dare not do

learn to wield your hips

like a Colt 45

and re-apply your lipstick

In the dark

You have never

Bought yourself a drink

Or taken your heels off

in public

No one will ever see you

In the early morning light

As you remove your shoes

and hold your tender feet

like a newborn babe


Filed under Creative

Dear bloggers one and all…

Dear fellow bloggers,

Happy New Year to you all. When I started blogging, I had no idea how addictive and wonderful it would be and this is down to YOU… You’ve made me laugh, cry and hurl: actually not hurl, but I’m British, so writing this is killing me (our idea of a compliment is to slap someone on the back and run away). I’m pleased as punch to have found you all and to be able to share in your musings. Wishing you all the very best in 2013 and looking forward to your words with gleeful anticipation. Peace, love and light with a pat on the back….I’m gone…. FatW


Filed under General

Ghost Life

I look over your shoulder

As we say our goodbyes

Your avatar is standing in the hall

yelling about dinner

As I drive away from you

we debate the options

chop and fry in sychronicity

I am halfway home


before we eat

our shadow meal

cosy in the half lit kitchen

Picking over the

bones of the day

in the dying light

as you spit

the punchline

to my silly songs

through mouthfuls

of us

throw blessed handfuls

of the life we never made

into the air like confetti


Later, in bed alone

I replay your reflection

in the wing mirror

A cassette loop trail of

false memories

spooling through your fingers

and longing would lay

my very bones

into your hands


Filed under Creative, General