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)

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