Tracing Tar

Reads: 46  | Likes: 3  | Shelves: 1  | Comments: 6

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: November 28, 2017

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Submitted: November 28, 2017

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Tracing Tar.

 

Have you ever noticed all those veins,

that run up your wrists, on the backs of your hands,

snaking their way up the inside of your arms,

like some kind of track for invisible trains.

 

I pull up my sleeve, right one being left handed,

and there are all these lines, greeny blue,

the strangest kind of murky hue;

perhaps the aliens have already landed.

 

I take a pen, a black one, a marker,

and I trace those tracks, mark those lines

some quite thick and others fine,

and make them all much darker.

 

I’m feeling sluggish, tired and drained;

and now I think there’s not blood but tar,

sticking and slurping, my life to mar,

to pump it round, my heart is strained.

 

Nothing but an idle thought,

I’ll go and wash the ink away.

Should have checked what it did say,

for in stationery's trap I’m surely caught.

 

I can scrub with soap, wash and rinse,

but do not remove a mark;

those lines are still so strong and stark.

It really makes me want to wince.

 

At least it’s winter, chill and cold,

long-sleeved sweaters that I love,

and on my hand I’ll wear a glove --

for this, I am too old.

 

 


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