Overhung

I’m splayed on the carpet
a bad-mannered starfish clutching my toes

half a piece of toast hangs from my mouth like an old bauble on a Christmas tree
my hair is seaweed,
dancing in
greasy, disgusting tangles around my neck

in ten minutes I will
stand in the shower and dissolve,
skull against the tiles
for now I’ll just lie back on these crumbs

last night… sloshes around my head like
soggy gym shoes thrown from a car

the scraps keep appearing
churning out groans like a compost bin

I plummeted from the dance floor
onto a pair of eyelinered fish heads
sucking out each other’s gills in time to Kanye,
swaggering nasty through the throng

I think I smiled clumsily and retrieved politely
the slice of lime
that had fallen on her head from my glass

then, failing to care, I flailed my jelly arms
back into the strobe light wonderland of
whoever’s kitchen it was

My toast is as soggy as the gym shoes now
I must have dribbled into its charred, miserable crusts
Where’s mum?

At least on this sad, sad morning there is coffee, that jolly little Italian waiting in the cupboard. He’ll help!

There was this other bit where
I was talking to the wall and you came up behind me
putting one drink in my hand, one hand on my waist
my silly drunk waist
I turned around to your grin, and all the noise stopped
my eyes lolled from the bridge of your Roman nose to the sharp line of your chin to your neck and I grinned back, foolish like a schoolgirl
but there was…something

until, in the shaky blur
you were gone, replaced by a fridge
and I realised I was standing
head over the sink
alone

This coffee isn’t working
after one sloppy sip,
I’m betrayed by the aftertaste
like a grotty homeless man’s sneer

He’s staring at me now,
a foggy, motherless mammal
knotted up in flannel pyjamas

Shutting all the blinds
I grovel myself away
little worm that I am
off to the shower
in hope of another chance at my sunny, life-affirming Sunday morning.

Baby Indy

'Baby Indy' Watercolour on paper 2013

‘Baby Indy’
Watercolour on paper
2013

I accept portrait commissions with great alacrity! Contact me if at all interested. I use a myriad of different styles and mediums in order to suit the person, and have no fixed price.

camilla.eustance@hotmail.com

Cheers!

Dorset

Eating raspberries
Half an hour before
you talked of your sister’s achievements

“Not that you aren’t special too!”

And something cracked
as the heartless man in the car-park
shouted an insult
at your beautiful, shaky-fingered Gran

“No, n-no, that was my fault, it – “

The Dorset clouds gathered
snickered and rained fatigue
all down your cheeks

You’re getting older
drip drip
You’re just getting older
drip drip

And a trickle of failure maybe
through the buttons of your shirt

Holding the creased paper bag
a quiet kind of melancholy softness seeping through
Her and through

your younger body standing next to Her

The Walk Home

Tied

It escaped from my grasp

with the wave, with the wave

I found it there no further a walk

because we walked, we walked

and I sought to dig it from deep

where it stuck, it got stuck

no longer could the lid from the jar

open in the time I couldn’t, the time

all it needed was a source of light

the dark sets in at noon, the dark

after hours it fell down harder

I let it fall, and it fell

tightly wound as a rope around my hands

I’m tied up now, tied up

loose ends taunt me as they never have

now I can’t escape, escape

so I sat down to breathe

waiting for peace, my peace to come