Girl

This poem is one from observation. I was at a loss as to what to write about for a poetry assignment I had, then I kept seeing this girl I had never seen before around campus, and ran into her a few times. It was strange, and I couldn't stop staring at her, perhaps because I have never seen someone so dead looking that was alive before. It intrigued me indeed.

There is a girl
Like a rotting weed
It keeps reappearing
Blue lips
And a sickly pallor
All bones
A walking cactus
All joints
And points
She wisps by
Withering away as I pass
It keeps reappearing
The lady says
You look good
She mumbles a frigid answer
What sugary lies
That old woman
She couldn't look worse
That girl
With blue lips
and a sickly pallor
I"m sure she eats acid
The black dead eyes
She's the salt left over
From a dead sea
The sour smell
It keeps reappearing
Like a rotting weed
There is a girl.


copyright Christine Locke