Attempt at a Horrible Poem
(In response to Attempt at a Beautiful Poem, by Clare Pollard,

from The Heavy Petting Zoo [Bloodaxe, 1998]) 

 

I wanted this poem to be horrible for you; 
longed madly to say vile things, 
but from this restaurant window I can only see 
clear blue skies that empty the mind, 
and happy people beneath them 
healthy from living 
clean, natural lives, full of simple pleasures, 
joyful song and charming acquaintances.

 

Those smiling waiters are most likely humouring me, 
but the bubbling, sickly, green-pea soup, 
however hard I try, can only be your emerald eyes.

 

Couples move elegantly across the dance floor, 
humming songs from their forgotten years, 
because the moon, the full moon, 
was out last night.

 

I could pretend that the sun is an uninvited guest, 
but its beams clear away the shadows 
and ripens my pale skin to a tan 
like those pretty peaches sold on the market stalls, 
that are kissed by soft, thirst-driven lips;

 

until, it wouldn’t surprise anyone to see 
a smile creep across my stern face.

 

I so wanted to give you a poem that was horrible, 
but somehow I know my promises of bringing more harm 
than a vengeful Mars, with sour-sharp, poisonous words 
and fists full of loathing,
are not going to work this time.