Deborah Alma

Still Life

Rigby’s approach is to sweep things under the carpet.
Sometime, he hoovers them up,
But then he can’t sleep
Imagines them still alive in the clear plastic cylinder,
The ugly words,
The cunts the bastards the bitches
That lay wriggling round her,
That he threw, not imagining the mess.
Next time, under the carpet.
Definitely. Yes.
Then, if there’s still life there,
He will not see
As he stamps and stamps and stamps.

*Deborah Alma
was born in London and lives in Ludlow. She writes poetry, runs poetry
workshops for children and dementia sufferers and is studying for an MA
in Creative Writing at Keele University. She is also Emergency Poet in
her 1960's ambulance.

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