HOSTAGE

I can see so much if I care to look

Out of the cage that my black dog has built,

Beyond the pages of my latest book,

And through the gauze curtains of ceaseless guilt.

My name is unseen,

No one views this ageing face.

I am just an empty space,

Vanished and spent without a trace,

But please don’t ask me how I died.

I hear so much noise all ‘round me these days -

Voices that argue and accents that coax,

Shouts rising above the muzak that plays,

And laughter that follows dubious jokes.

My name is noiseless,

I live on the edge of sense,

Just beyond all resonance,

Silenced in the present tense.

So no one asks me how I died.

I watch the cars approach and then go past,

Making long drives to vast weekenders;

Or on the road for fun, having a blast,

Utes with plastic plates stuck fast in fenders.

My name is linger.

I live where there is no go.

Every day is mean and slow,

As if there’s nowhere else to know.

Please don’t ask me how I died.

I forget when my green heart was hollowed,

Scooped out and ditched like avocados’ skins,

Destined to bleed for someone I’d followed,

Forever punished for another’s sins.

My name is stigma,

Even though I made no gain.

I wear another’s ball and chain,

And bear tattoos of shame and pain.

Just don’t ask me how I died.