What I heard at spoken word
‘I don’t read the news much, or not recent news anyway. But I did see a piece about a man from Birmingham who raped his child like 1000 times in three years.’ A pause. Which is like, what, three times a week.
I just thought, that’s wrong innit? Its disgusting. Because home is supposed to be a place of sanctuary.
So I wrote this poem from the perspective,’ he stopped and wet his lips, ‘of the little girl:
Morning, laying in my bed,
the sound of mum going to work, of car door close
and engine rev. Then the sound I dread:
Crrreeeek. Crrrreeek.
The door opening.
Crrreeeek.‘
At this point I could not absorb the description of the rape he gave, which was rather graphic, although mercifully not in rhyme. I had begun to shake with horrified laughter, a kind of irrepressible laugh of such force I have not experienced outside of a church or school assembly. I took great interest in the menu while my shoulders quaked.
He finished.
Silence.
For.
Effect.
‘Now I know that was a bit dark.’ Pensive look. ‘But, I mean, its not all roses is it?’
Category: random 4 comments »
January 29th, 2010 at 06:40
Wow. That takes spoken word to a new level doesn’t it?
February 4th, 2010 at 05:51
a new level of cringe, yes. a new level of naivete for young artistic men. what else?
February 11th, 2010 at 07:09
not dissimilar to the song that bought Falco undone
February 21st, 2010 at 12:46
Yes, you’re right. Hubris run amok.