.................................
The Brown Sleeve
.................................

My old man said he had lot on his mind.
That's all I knew. And I didn't really give a damn.
I only knew him as this piece of sleeve
disappearing out the door. A sleeve which used
to hold me and swing me up and down. But that
was as fun as it got. That's my old man -
a vanishing act of starchy brown sleeves.

Old Mum told me he had lot on his mind
and not to bother him with any rally
to raise my allowance. So, I just went
up my room and egged the radio to screaming blast.
I'm not so green; I know about having a lot
on your mind. What I didn't know was
that piece of brown sleeve would sneak up on
the old man and blow his brains out.

 
.................................
Nude
.................................

He always wondered how I'd be
trapped so fastidiously in his canvas.
There I've noticed lately
how he cheats around the curves
of my 5-children hips and over-milked teats.
A sow, that's how he sketches me these days
to himself as he continues
to carve that figure he knew so well -
too well that I admit to a tri-colour oil jealousy.
Sometimes I think he's the one
trapped so fastidiously in his canvas, not me.
But I've found a hammer to squeeze him out of nostalgia
and me out of the 90 kilos intermixing me with him:
I send the bastard to nervous running
the moment I scream his name.

.................................
Arlene Ang
.................................

 
Copyright © Arlene Ang
June 1998

...a poem in this room by Julie Becker...
Story of Ms. Hair
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