Poems and Poetry

She Has Sisters Named Rose, Lily and Violet, yet Her Mother Called Her Bramble | A Poem by Paul Tristram

She was born on the defensive.
No one buried a pet like she could.
Sabbath days brought out misfit ways.
Spit spite through gap in teeth like cobra.
Darker than the rest of the litter, inside and out.
Against the grain of common decency, naturally.
Never a stammer to her confidence.
Cherishes arguments and misspent affidavits.
Either not fussy at all or too picky
when it comes to bewildered suitors.
Enjoys the catch better than the chase.
Meanders aimlessly yet arrives promptly in trouble.
‘There’s more than one way to skin a cat’
is her sucker punch to structure.
She is the only person in the history of the Village
to use a paper bag of sticky pear drops
in such a terrifying yet imaginative way.
Only reads books unrecommended.
Runs races barefooted or not at all.
Spends most of her pocket money upon raffle tickets,
which if she’s lucky? (Which she Devilishly is!)
she then proceeds to burn, upon the very spot
and in front of anyone standing near enough
to be horrified by her premeditated wickedness.

Visit Paul at http://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/.

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