Mockingbird

My daddy still grabs my arm as we're walking along the road
and a car plunges forth through the embroidered night.
He may be an old black shoe, but I still
do whatever I can to make him proud
like a pathetic seven-year-old with a painting.
Though I ignore him sometimes and he ignores me,
I'm an attention-seeker who misses the man she thinks she hates.

All I ever wanted was to be a flicker of importance
which had a purpose and idolised those it knew.
But it never ends, the crowd I cry over.
It could be three o'clock in the morning
and you'd find me collecting tears in a photo album,
wishing impossibilities and breathing lies.
The way I shiver under the slightest touch
makes an onlooker sick.

All I ever wanted was a mockingbird and a diamond ring.
I don't need drunk falsehoods and stoned lies,
or late-night throat obstuctions.
But I've a mockingbird with a torn larynx
and a ring drowned in rust
for each day of the week.
written: Monday 3rd January 2004, 12:30am.