Dedication to her Art
She is a Goth in black and pale,
In a daily cosplay, a loudmouth mime –
I muse if the process ever gets stale ?
But she’s on the dole, so I guess she has time.
On the days when I see her looking very boring
Is a day when I think she prob’ly has an interview –
But otherwise, I see her chequered like the flooring,
Posing for commuters as we hurry on through.
In time, I guess, she’ll simply grow out of it,
And land that job where she has to behave,
And sign-up for tennis, as if she never doubted it,
And marry into motherhood, and paint the architrave.
Until, one day, an unexpected photograph,
An over-awed grandchild, and it all comes back –
With a flicker of pride and an unassuming laugh,
And a tale of the daily pale and black.
Am I projecting ? I think I’m projecting.
But every day, as her statement goes by,
I find myself once more reflecting
On how she’s the only one round here to even try.
Yet surely the Goths are braver when in company,
As freaks together, a performance shared ?
But her mates just slouch in their t-shirts, grumpily –
And I am no different, I never would have dared…!
Rhyming Couplets 