Breakdowns

[Eric Ashford]

I hear that after she broke-up with me
she herself broke down.
A friend of a friend said he distinctly heard
her main-spring go.

They say she broke
in the London underground.
while waiting for the West Ham tube train.
One of her many prodding elbows
sprang a leak,
a sharp knee ground to a halt,
a sprocket in her head
escaped out of her open mouth.
She just toppled there on that platform
an oily mess.

She deteriorated fast they say.
Her lower jaw tried to swallow words
made of toothless cogs.
Eventually she was written off
and declared beyond repair.

It was all so very sad.
I also was damaged, my mangled remains
were displayed for weeks in a small art gallery
dedicated to avant garde performance art.

[Matty11]

delivers on many levels Eric. I don't feel you need avant garde. Overcooked, besides we can glean. So much experience/demise is an oily mess!

Phil

[AlienFlower]

Eric, I like the way your characterization is everywhere—meanings of words, visual appearance of the poem, and sound effects. The stanzas about Her stumble clumsily between lines of irregular length and two-beaters, while the stanza about Me is elegantly aligned rows. She expires as a thing that never lived, while my human-ness remains forever. Both of us left immobile as stone.

A very interesting read! Were you thinking of someone real when you wrote this?

Jackie