KERSTY'S HELLHOLE.

[dadio]

Kersty squats in the stall
Of the john, her elbows on
Her knees, her face hidden
Behind her hands. She’s

Made herself puke up
The breakfast into the bowl
Which lies there like some
Cold mixed up stew

Left over from the day before.
The stink hangs in the air.
In her pocket
Lay three liberated choc-bars

Waiting to be consumed.
She pilfered them from the shop
In the hospital hallway
While the young assistant

Looked elsewhere, unaware
That Kersty lingered there.
She opens her eyes
And looks around.

The only sanctuary she has
In the maze of warm wards
And cold long corridors.
Her mother doesn’t understand

The complexity of bulimia,
Doesn’t see beyond
The word lingering behind
The fingers down the throat

And the puke in the bowl;
It is all: you’ve got to pull
Yourself together, get through
To the other side somehow.

Kersty knows her mother’s
Latest guy doesn’t give a fuck
Which side of her he shafts,
He’s only in it for the sex

And a few drug crazed laughs.
She leans her head back
On the stall wall, ignoring
Scribbled lonely messages

From other fucked up souls,
And pulls out a choc-bar
And rips off the cover
And stuffs it in her mouth

And closes her eyes, not a bit
Like that awful oral sex
He made her do
When her mother was out

At work, waitressing
In some seedy joint.
She licks each finger in turn
Removing chocolate

And savouring
The sexlessness
Of the simple
Operation

Behind closed doors,
Leaning against the wall
Of the john’s dank stall.

[the mingo]

the psychotic underbelly of consciousness seems to be quite the gold mine for you Terry. You always unearth & bring back the choicest nuggets.

[dadio]

thank you, the mingo. I wrote a whole chapter on this subject years back in an unfinished novel.