KITTY

Image

No one told me

That Kitty had died

She just

Disappeared

From my life

One day

No more

Visits to her house

On the top deck

Of the number 65

Bus to Ealing

No more gifts of

Wrigley’s chewing gum

Kitty had

Boxes and boxes

Of the stuff

She had

Developed a taste

For gum from

An American boyfriend

A soldier

During the war

 

I almost forgot her

 

As a small boy

I was in love

With Kitty

Mother’s best friend

 

Curly dark

Maybe black hair

Slim and beautiful

Save for

The ugly

National Health

Spectacles  

Circular lenses

The hard up

Wore them

Back in the day

 

Childless herself

She adored me

Spoilt me

Something rotten

 

Then many years on

During a nightmare

Kitty’s benevolent face

Appeared to me

Gave sanctuary

From whatever demons

Were in my head  

 

Only then

It struck me

I had not seen

Or heard of her

Since I was a boy

 

Me?

I didn’t find out

Anything about

The demise

Of Kitty

Until shortly before

My mother’s death

I asked about her

She spilled the beans

 

Kitty never married

She had a thing

About sun beds

Mother told me

She died

Of skin cancer

 

In my dream

Kitty’s face

Was as clear

As crystal

 

In the attic

Next day

Took an age

To find

That old photo

Needed it

Just to make sure

It was her

In my dream

 

Strange thing

How I held

A vision of her

Within

My hard drive

For such

A very long time

 

I wish

I had been told

She was dead

Back then

But who tells

A little kid

Anything

Anyway

 

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27 thoughts on “KITTY

  1. I have noticed a lot tighter enjambment in poetry these days. I thought this poem was worthy of it. Did Kitty justice. But I’m just a reader, not a critic. On a side note, maybe totally random, but I think sometimes that this entire “comment” function is rather strange. Is “leave a reply” begging for approval? This trade of blogging is peculiar — are bloggers asking for readers or critics?

    1. You know I’m not sure. Personally I like simply to praise where praise is due (subjective I know) yet with the blogs I follow I read and ‘like’ where ‘like’ is due. The downside since I started this blogging malarkey is that I have lost touch with books. I miss them; then again I am presently enjoying blogging.

  2. I feel like I knew Kitty! This was beautiful. I think most of us can relate to this story very well. Thank you for immortalizing a woman like Kitty this way (I think a lot of children have some sort of Kitty figure in their lives).

  3. Aww, Little Mikey liked Wrigleys! 😉 Kitty was a beautiful tribute to your Mama’s sweet friend. That’s so sad that she died so young. Ya know, you sometimes act like you’re crusty and hard with your satire, but truthfully, you’re such a sweet man! You have such a good soul. I’m sure Shirley sees that side of you all the time. 🙂 Great verse!

    1. Funny you should say that – I was brought up an only child by a mother who had an amazing germ phobia to the extent that the usual kisses/cuddles etc. were things I never knew – and I mean ‘never’ (not meant to be a sob story by the way). As a result I was quite emotionless well into adulthood. Certainly during my first marriage I was more Carruthers than I care to acknowledge. Thankfully with Shirley being barking mad and very, very loud things have long since changed for the better. Plainly from your own musings – especially so your post yesterday you have a heart of gold young lady!

      1. NEXT week, you may get to read some (hopefully VERY FUNNY) examples of said “being kicked while down.” I’ve got some stories coming for a theme I’m starting in May that I think are funny…but then again I will probably get some people who can’t imagine why I would laugh at such disasters.

    2. I have the coldest “mother” alive, so I can understand. (And I understand the not meant to be a sob story thing, too…It is what it is and even though it’s shocking to other people, it was the only reality you knew and you don’t want people’s pity. At least that’s how I am about my experiences.) As for my heart of gold, that comes from years of being trampled and making it a point to be better than the people who tried so hard to break me.

      Shirley has done a remarkable job with you, because you definitely have a shining soul that pours through in mere conversation as well as your writing.

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