the aging heart

when one is young
a heart’s pain is half-wild
hot and sharp and crazed as wasps
in an aging heart
the pain settles in a way
like an ever-present
ache in the elbows
a creak in the knees
or like rousing stiff-jointed
in the chill revelation of morning
with your heart’s hurts waking
upon the pillow beside you
and the niggling frustration
of wondering just where
you left the damn keys

© Sarah Whiteley

ode to the sh*t who murdered my mail box

dear inconsiderate slime,
that was a waste of your time,
all that effort to pry
and not a check waiting by
not a bank statement,
not a present, nor dime

your mother must really be proud,
bet she sings your praises aloud
does she know you’re a sh*t
with the mind of a twit
and are most likely
minutely endowed

what were you hoping to steal?
(you worthless degenerate heal)
all you got was Netflix,
Season Three, Disc Six
of (goddamn you I was looking forward to that)
Ally McBeal

© Sarah Whiteley

a spot of bother

dearest Mother and Father,
I’m in a spot of bother
I can’t go to sleep, you see,
for there appears to be
a Beast-Hemoth under my bed

you’ll say that my mind’s playing tricks
I’d believe you if he didn’t kick
but he turns in his sleep
that big snoring heap
and his tail keeps whacking my head

I’ve tried waking the great big lump
by kicking his big fat rump
but he’s hungry you see
and he won’t listen to me
when I tell him to get out of my bed

so I’m sorry dear Mother and Father,
I hate to be such a bother
but if I go back to my room
and the Beast-Hemoth of doom
I fear that I might wake up dead

get my little butt right back upstairs?
I’m starting to think you don’t care
for I’ll die if I go
this is as big as I’ll grow
that Beast-Hemoth has never been fed

you’ll feel in the morning regret
when you wake up to find I’ve been et
or you’ll be cross with me
if he answers my plea
and he eats my sister instead

© Sarah Whiteley