The Smudge Of Time

The Smudge Of Time short poem

Photo by ribena_wrath

It all seems important until someone doesn’t remember
the squabbling plans of a coven of third grade girls
to torment a classmate each with a thick red pencil
sharpened for poking each put together as glossy
as a nine-year old can imagine sporting the fashion
of vegetarianism and close held beliefs about the evil
of crooked teeth – they poke at the gaps of their victim
lever the tender plates of her identity apart and revel
in a flowing sea of snot and tears and the shuddering
flushed bed of flesh it flows across – for a time they each
will claim the rights of creation then after discovery
deny it to let it fade day by day like a graphite drawing
in a high-traffic hallway massaged by dozens of greasy
fingers until sometime later in the long afternoon of life
they will be reminded by a stray scent – the mingled odor
of urine and fabric softener, pencil shavings, electric prickles
raised by digging a wound into a plump young forearm,
blueberries and blood to be transported into a bathroom stall
full of chanting flesh, a storm of violence surrounding an eye
of disbelief, that these girls who shared a love for juice boxes
and cartoon characters had suddenly developed a need
to select a candidate to cull from their previously happy herd.

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GlenDodge

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a poet from Seattle Washington USA. His poetry has appeared in print in publications such as Bellowing Ark, Point Nopoint, and most recently in Contraposition magazine. When not writing poetry he is a Human Resources professional, a repentant glutton, and a novelist specializing in the weird-fiction genre.
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Shamala Chandran
Member

I can relate to this…don’t worry my friend..time heals… and lets wait for Karma to take action 🙂

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