The VCR Diaries: A Poetic Documental
Act 1-Veronica, Part 3
There’s a few people on the front row scribbling on paper. I can’t imagine what they’re writing, but one looks like a reporter. The others look like they got the flyer. They left their suits at home. I’m down to two more entries. I still have my diary in hand, but for this one, I’m taking my eye off the page. I’m setting them right on him. There’s no need to read what you know. And the fact remains, there’s another woman he loves, and she lives under his pillow.
Under the Pillow
If I tell a funny story…
There she goes.
If I should even suggest that I know him well,
She can go deeper.
It’s the love of his life,
That damn journal.
She thinks the bed is hers,
And I almost got to ask to get in it.
She likes to keep the lights on,
And tells him to look over at me with that questioning look,
A look that says,
Isn’t it time to turn the t.v. off?
She's tough like that,
She’s a hard cover,
And got tight pages.
I don’t exchange words with her,
Like I said…
I keep my eyes on him,
He keeps his eyes on her.
But I found a bend in one of the pages of my diary,
She’s jealous I bet.
Can’t keep her eyes off what I’m writing,
And dying to know,
What life is like above the pillow.
See we been multiplying,
And we got stories no one’s heard yet.
We got days filled to the top,
And her pages don’t turn fast enough,
Nor does the ink drip quick enough.
He’s leaving things out,
And I’m keeping them,
All locked up where there’s no ink.
Now I’ve got to get her in that draw,
And off the coffee table,
And out of the bathroom.
He’s married now.
Well, just about.
And like with all these damn things,
Somethings will have to be left until then,
She knows it’s for real.
Until he seals the deal.
Lately I feel like a lucky well.
It’s my take on it,
But there are looks that tell me,
What the PM is thinking.
There’s a look that says..
Well… You’re lucky.
And right at the end of that,
It sticks it to ya with…
And don’t forget it.
But grace is no luck,
And eighteen years is not a duck.
I sat there...
I counted every sip of coffee,
And had to learn to tango on the spot.
That’s how the Shepherd comes…
With your spot in hand,
And demanding you get in it.
So where’s the luck,
I said yes,
Long before the bottom fell in.
I said yes to a dance in the dark,
I said yes when it was empty,
I put my shoes on when the Shepherd was still mixing the concrete,
When gray was the only color I could see,
And when the leather was stretched too thin.
It was stretched so thin...
In the end it only looked like crushed linen.
I kept the car running while happenstance went to get the roses,
And when it got lost,
And it looked like life would shut off,
I still kept my dress on.
I said yes…
And still wake up saying yes,
I took the stairs saying yes,
I kept my story straight saying yes,
I watched the bars open and close,
And still said yes.
Now someone got it in their mind that I’m lucky,
And they’re out to roll back the luck…
But a penny just hit the bottom,
And someone agrees,
That I’m a lucky well.
It may have appeared she would recapture her place on her platform, but the bare stage is the platform and her bare feet left a print. I don’t know about Reece, but Cassandra is surely not going to stand in her shadow, so off she goes. The sweat has dried and the blood’s on her white pants, but the tears… She’ll never let you see.
All Poems Written by NaTisha Renee Williams
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The VCR Diaries Copyright 2018 by Natisha Renee Williams, All Right Reserved.