Scarecrow by Mark Vanner


In the nook of the evening
I gather blackbirds on my shoulders
and curse your name
Dorothy, Dot, Dotty, Doll
whatever it is you liked to be called these days.
When you left me here to the town drunks and the mice
and deep time; with a traffic cone for a hat
and an idiots brain
bitch, I thought that I might die
thought that I might go mad
from all this thinking.
But this morning as the sun
cracked like an egg
above the sycamore trees
my brain sketched a new picture of you
Older now. 80lbs heavier.
Waiting on tables in some greasy bar.
3 kids at home. Boyfriend in prison.
Five digit credit card debt.
Then later, locked inside a bathroom stall
tears streaking down your cheeks
clicking your heels as fast as you can
but going nowhere.

Mark VannerMark Vanner lives in the UK. His poetry and short stories have appeared widely since 2003 in publications including, Neon Literary Magazine, Swill Magazine, Pearl Magazine, The South, Poetry Monthly, Zygote In My Coffee, 3:AM, Blackheart Magazine and many more. For more information and news of his latest crimes against literature please visit his website by clicking here…

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