Back where the dinosaurs sucked in their shrinkwrap, between their teeth bendy and white
Sit with the kids at their table and smile, my knees poking up round my ears
Just like a clown in a mini, like a T-rex in a cinema seat.
Hoisting my glass by the scruff of its stem, away from those Vegemite elbows
Away from those pink precious lips. Look at the pizza, out of the corner of
My holy mouth. Eye off those pretty, seductive illusions for hours.
Gorgeous and salt, they fan out in cheese and aroma to olive me hard.
Sprinkled like colourful wheels, glowing as stained glass in seasonal rains.
Level my rainbow of sweet disconnection – no touching, be careful, they’re art.
Piece all of this back together, string it all back prehistoric to truth
Nobody killed off the dinosaur plastic, they just couldn’t make it decide whether
Giving it in was giving it up or a strength. It still isn’t sure.
Sit with the kids at their table, their hands are as busy as crabs in a bucket.
Roaming like spiders, picking pink lollies from off of the icing-clad cup cakes
Chipping the chocolates sharp out of the biscuits, discarding the rest in a rush.
Slip myself into those fingers, adoring their brilliant anemone dance.
Throw myself into their future, guard them against any beast who would slap
Them away from the plate.
This poem is a fourteener (but the last line is different, because you have to make the last line different, right?) So it's written in iambic heptameter (seven-footed lines) as requested by Mark, who kept Wiki-ing til he found a meter I hadn't written in before. I think 'fourteener' is an awesome name for a poetic form. It makes me sound like a teenager in a sociological study. Which, incidentally, is pretty much how I roll. Apart from the prohibitive standards of hygiene, and all that dancing.
Tigs suggested wine and pizza, as every time our household gets a writing/reviewing cheque that's what we do first. But also, pizza is complicated for me.
Justine suggested dinosaurs, because she is awesome.