Prompt:

Feb 25

 

Cliché

Clichés become clichés for a reason. Tell us about the time ‘a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush’ for you.

 

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‘Fly away Peter, Fly away Paul’, I whispered

But my husband must not hear me whisper

He always says ‘You’re fading slowly from me like smoke… like a wisp’

He says it without looking at me because since they left, he only looks at his Wii

 

 

‘Fly away Peter, Fly away Paul’, I pondered.

And like a clown, my face I over-powdered,

As I cannot bear to see the face of the woman through whom their lives were plundered

Because she simply let them drown and float on the water like the fishes in a pond died

 

 

‘Fly away Peter, Fly away Paul’, I say to my dead sons

I will miss them for many a reason;

They were my unearthlinesses, my perfections, my moon, my stars and my sun

But they went within seconds and left me with a stun

 

 

So, ‘Come back Peter, Come back Paul’, I say to my budding bun

Because of you in my belly, now I weigh a ton

I will name you Peter Paul, all in one

But I will love you, and the dead I will shun

For now, with mourning, I’m done.