In the living room, you can’t find anything living,
just three fixed kids safe on X Boxes,
as mother unpegs the blue sky,
rolls it up for a rainy day.
Tea-time is ready meal love,
served without expression,
the adults marinate in post-dinner wine,
in the garden breakdowns pose as flowers.
This is prosperity, what we lost our days for,
a roof and a car,
a credit card and the thousand yard stare.
This Little Girl
lived in a world of pinched faces,
where anxiety was worn like blusher –
Yorkshire – the place where everyone is waiting
in stilled houses, nobody is sure what for.
the mountainous thud of horse hooves on telly,
boxed games that smothered tension,
a pungent beer, a trip to God
before he passed over.
Michelle Diaz has been writing poetry since the late 90s. She has been published by Prole, Strix, Amethyst Review, Amaryllis, the ‘Please Hear What I’m not Saying’ Mind anthology and was awarded 3rd prize in the Mere Literary Competition 2017. She has a son with Tourette Syndrome and had a very unusual upbringing—both of which have been huge inspirations for her writing. She lives in the colourful and strange town of Glastonbury. Without poetry her soul would be incredibly hungry.
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