You are fallen-
the mosquito whine of history,
the poisonous hiss of gossip
and scandal that seeps
from slavering tongues in chic
kitchen diners and onto the streets-
say it is so.
Brazen in disgrace, too in-your-face
sexy for the stone-clutchers, stool-duckers
of the ant-tunnel lanes and roads of home.
School run bitch faces, store queue snide tones
leave your glorious head unturned; Unheeded go
greedy glances from identikit dads,
dazzled as moths by your lustrous frame
that’s carried on dreaming steps.
Glowing goddess, you spill sparks out and over
the dowdy crowd who scuttle for cover,
their dust-dry muttered judgements
cast like dead seeds by a bitter wind
on infertile sand.
The fire in your heart’s un-dimmed,
Your molten soul’s unafraid to grasp
Love’s outstretched hand.
~Polly Oliver (2016)