Bedtime Barbie

 

by Louise Beech

 

louise@joelou.karoo.co.uk

 

Cherry paper catches stars

that drop off the tree like bloody eye-shadow,

stealing my reflection.

Pink wrapping rips easily,

except at the corners where sticky-tape tugs tight,

resisting, putting up a fight.

 

Bedtime Barbie hasn’t woken,

even with all the jiggling and jerking and pulling,

and her slipper coming loose in the box

to smack her in the face.

She needs a kiss good-night,

but good night is a forgotten wish,

remember.

 

She smells of new babies in the hospital

and her nightie is a whisper of lace, tight at the neck,

her pussy bald beneath

and her wavy hair can be brushed and plaited and patted

and persuaded by a boyfriend to be kept long.

 

Discard the cherry paper

in a tangle of sheet and pillow and ribbon.

No, save the wrapping; it’ll get used again, for something small.

 

But the stars are ruined.

©2009 Louise Beech

 

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