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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.
Category: Couplets | Added by: Lauren (2012-12-01) | Author: Lauren
Views: 244 | Comments: 5 | Rating: 0.0/0
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