Monday, February 18, 2019

Sylvia Plath put her head in an oven at the age of 30
But you don't have an oven
because radiation can kill, you see?
And you hate shutting your kitchen with blinds and shutters
so anyone could look in, and try to stop
if you were trying to pop like popcorn in your kitchen
There are the celing fans but the dust on the blades would probably deter you
and make you cough so hard you wouldn't be able to tie the knot
unless you fell down from the ladder
But no one dies of falls from two-step ladders
The balcony is too pretty to contemplate jumping off
What if you were wearing old underwear and everyone found out?
So for now
I will just slit my wrists and
lie low
until someone finds me
Maybe after the odour wafts out of the house
and mingles
with the smells of cooking
from other people's houses
they would wonder where the stench was coming from
and comment on it
blame the housekeeping
or some poor innocent neighbour
and then after some days frantically try to find the source
until they realise no one has gone in and out of this house for days
so they bang open the door and call twenty people and break it down
and upon finding the corpse exclaim
'Oh, but she seemed normal when I saw her!'

No comments: