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Alabaster Horn

A horn emerged one morning with the tawny sun Raised in between my eyes, steely as a gun. My fingers split from tracing up the tapered tip, My pillow bleeding feathers, ripped to cotton strips. The doctor made a house-call, brought his rawhide bag, Prodded my burdened brow, commented on the sag Of the skin adjoining my new accessory And on the coloration: more parchment than ivory. He advised a UV lamp regime twice daily And mused aloud how to get the horn less scaly. He first prescribed polymer but then thought shellac Would better seal and stuff those pesky hair-line cracks. The UV treatment failed, my horn tarnished green. The doctor strokes his chin: why don't we try some bleach? He super glued my forehead, plastered up my pores, Smothering the wrinkles he so violently abhorred. The next morning I awoke to a loathsome sight My face had liquefied to paste overnight; A pond of toxic sludge congealed on the floor Pooling in the arc of an alabaster horn.
1 2 3 4 5 Category: Couplets \| Added by: Lauren (2012-12-01) \| Author: Lauren
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