One Poem by Jim Bennett

Written in response to this month’s Special Challenge.

two skulls

there are two skulls
but I don’t know which is him
    his curled lip   snarl
       the cracked valleys of his face

the angry bloodshot eyes
       all gone to dust
   eye sockets like the finger holes
on a bowling ball

inside   a spider’s web
    stretches across the brain pan
        where personality once bounced
   from side to side
to change without warning

flimsy bone hands
            ready to fall apart
    don’t look like the hands
that punched me when he was drunk

I kiss the skull
   cold      hard     unyielding
         just like him

 

Jim Bennett is a poet who was born in Liverpool in the UK a long time ago and is still alive (we think).

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