Formerly: Could Have Been Grotesque
By any other dialect it should
have been grotesque but we
managed to celebrate without
the mass protest expected of
drunkenly gauche revelry;
and we wrote more words on
the cigarette papers, lit them
singularly with matches
scratched on surfaces suiting
the expression, cast them into
What was the purpose of that?
I have wondered to this day but
nothing replicates the ease and
contiguity of that night, the flow
of our feelings, an exorcism of a
mighty burden we’d lived with
for five years.
We were worthy, we were free
and we wrote those words with
lipstick stolen from the purses of
gifted girls, or begged from the
same with promises. Our words
were supposedly sacrosanct
offerings in privacy of a makeshift
shrine on the overbridge between
the library and the student union.
It was a communion of feelings,
offerings and forgiving. I wrote
with feeling – F.U. – there wasn’t
room for any more...
© 4 December 2006, I.D. Carswell