My Love is Electric
Posted: Tue Sep 12, 2006 8:15 pm
I have read some others work here, but what I know about poetry you could put in a hat, a small hat that's very porous. This one was for a writing prompt for a bad Valentine's day.
'My Love is Electric' by Pete Carter
My room is a bland one. The bed, a small bookshelf and the toilet are my only amenities. I do have a small window that lets in the filtered light from outside. The only way I can tell when it’s light or dark is from the glow of the opaque milk glass.
I like to read to pass the time, but the light bulb in my room flashes on and off. Sometimes the memories come streaming back. I’m not sure if they are all real or just crap I dreamed up. The light bulb in my room flashes on and off.
I remember the night of the accident, the car going over the guardrail. I see the car hit the pavement and squash like some construct of play-doh. I walk close to the car and see her face stretched out on the windshield like in a fun house mirror. The bits of broken glass mixed in with matted hair, blood and ravaged flesh that press against the windshield and leak out from the cracks. She was a caricature of my wife drawn hastily by drunken bum.
The drops of blood drip through the spidery cracks and then down to the asphalt , creating a red shine to the rocks that live within it.
I walk to the calendar and check off the day, February 14.
“ They ready Melton, the guard says as he opens the cell door.
He enters with two other guards and they shackle my hands and feet tightly and then escort me down the hall.
I remember the trial, where they said it was me that did it. Where they said I cut the brake line and then watched her die. I don’t remember any of that.
At the end of the hall is the chair. They strap my in and put a wet sponge on my head before lowering the tin bucket meant to fry my brain. All the time this is going on, a priest is muttering some special recitation to gain my soul heavenly passage.
“Any last words, says the warden.
I look up at the ceiling hoping to see her,
“ I love you honey, Happy Valentines day.
And they pull the black mask over my head.
'My Love is Electric' by Pete Carter
My room is a bland one. The bed, a small bookshelf and the toilet are my only amenities. I do have a small window that lets in the filtered light from outside. The only way I can tell when it’s light or dark is from the glow of the opaque milk glass.
I like to read to pass the time, but the light bulb in my room flashes on and off. Sometimes the memories come streaming back. I’m not sure if they are all real or just crap I dreamed up. The light bulb in my room flashes on and off.
I remember the night of the accident, the car going over the guardrail. I see the car hit the pavement and squash like some construct of play-doh. I walk close to the car and see her face stretched out on the windshield like in a fun house mirror. The bits of broken glass mixed in with matted hair, blood and ravaged flesh that press against the windshield and leak out from the cracks. She was a caricature of my wife drawn hastily by drunken bum.
The drops of blood drip through the spidery cracks and then down to the asphalt , creating a red shine to the rocks that live within it.
I walk to the calendar and check off the day, February 14.
“ They ready Melton, the guard says as he opens the cell door.
He enters with two other guards and they shackle my hands and feet tightly and then escort me down the hall.
I remember the trial, where they said it was me that did it. Where they said I cut the brake line and then watched her die. I don’t remember any of that.
At the end of the hall is the chair. They strap my in and put a wet sponge on my head before lowering the tin bucket meant to fry my brain. All the time this is going on, a priest is muttering some special recitation to gain my soul heavenly passage.
“Any last words, says the warden.
I look up at the ceiling hoping to see her,
“ I love you honey, Happy Valentines day.
And they pull the black mask over my head.