Exhumed

 

Knackered, exhumed, drawn-out,

mesmerised …

H & M tempts, siphoning up the remnants of me through a straw hat,

bidding me with flesh-striped leggings, to sport my way over,

fly over the stationary traffic,

to zone out the time-wasters,

to make mockery of the drivers queuing for home.

 

I take off …

 

up and over,

 

and hover around the aisles looking for a taste of

something.

Something young enough

for a forty-something young lady, with a touch of silver –

perhaps –

a sparkle,

a spangle,

to bring out the grey.

 

A sequinned dress,

a stick-thin, pinned-out, silvery-sliver for an office party,

just the job for the grey.

Grab and dash.

Give it a try.

Squeeze in, inhale, diminish, deflate and snap.

A broken zip.

 

Shattered. Wings smashed.

 

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