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Black as the Ace of Spades he was,
In labour at York Tip.
My conscience shuddered as soon as I saw him
Tall, in precedence, absolutely noticeable.

And there was what seemed like a long extracted period of absolute shame and a penetrative stare that reduced me to less than the value of the ‘rubbish’ I was casting aside

My identity, my footprint in front of him in that moment
Full of my magnolia DIY paint, that would salve prestige over my earth-plunder
The evidence of my further betrayal of our future
Splattered into the Skip,
Escaped from the concealing black plastic
Creamed over wooden chair legs and plastic Barbie dolls.

He said nothing, but despite his silence I knew
He was Devil, Angel and God
As he presided there, his big brown eyes merely watching
Demarked my travage on this Planet Earth.

My soul dare not utter confessions
That were worthless in the chemical trail of last week’s extortion and the only way
Of shunning the feeling that I was unclean 
Was to ignore it and splash out further.

I headed for Matalan in my high four-by-four 
For another spot of retail therapy.
More upon more is just normal, my failed reasoning tried to justify
And I bought cushions to match my paint scheme.

My friends would be impressed.

Dramatic voice character created by Sarah-Jayne Mackenzie

This poem was originally published on XR Poetry Page.


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