Poetry

Backbiting

She was already his as you dwelled

staring in one hand-mirror – gloomy blue.

With a dusty frame and a blueberry sheen

it reflected your filth, bedeviled your face,

making you just as blue as the glass it encased.

There were tinges of green locked

in your fleshy seams when

she bit her bottom lip and

he half-smiled. You saw and exhaled

jade sneezes from your emulous glare

your fingers curling, revolted

as the mirror gloated, bearing

your chubby eyes and bulky reflection.

Not her pastel lips, perfect for his

oaky eyes and coaly 80's hair

smelling of burnt sage and honey.

Abby Brown