Au Naturel
from The Dance of a Thousand
Losers
© Geneviève L. Walsh, 2017
So lovely
to see you again.
I love what
you've done with the place.
I
especially love how every trace
of Teenage
You's been sandblasted
and
replaced with
magnolia.
There's no
room for melancholia in this colour scheme, it's
'Au Nat-ur-ahhl'.
It's Femme
Banal,
it's the
sunshine after The Little Death.
It's the
weight, it's the heft, it's the rosy cheek,
it's the
meek inheriting sweet fuck-all
and the
bold getting richer as we speak.
But 'ey,
you've gotta laugh. Gotta end each sentiment
with a
winky face
and an
exclamation mark.
So the
glasses clink
and the
wine gets sipped
and the
rosy-lipped masses laugh at our quips. Oh yeah,
the
compliments come in droves,
and with
all my heart I silently scream,
'Yeah, this
is all very nice,
but why are
we wearing clothes,
and why
aren't we drinking Jägermeister in the
dark?'
This façade
is really wearing thin and I'm sick to death
of the definitions
her and him.
Why have we not
transformed,
combined,
got out of
our collective minds?
I'm sick of
this normality lark. So,
in lieu of
a bunch of flowers or a sonnet,
answer
these two questions:
why are we
wearing clothes
and why aren't we
drinking Jägermeister in
the dark?