The Inevitable Pain
My butt pained
From the squeeze on the rim
Of a skeleton seat,
They made us sit and wince.
The spiked edge
Spikes, striking into my
Soft butt, distorting the comfort
Locking my jaws to disguise
That sharp pain,
They weren’t moved.
But this cup in my hand
It had lukewarm porridge
For the pastime and pain
To look away
Away from the pain
With my eyes shut, I sip on
And swallow hard
Not to see nor remember the content
But it was porridge I know
I could not stand from the bench
Maybe it was mine
They too wondered why
Maybe I loved it
Arms length away was cold
Sweet, healthy, fruit juice
I could reach for to
Cool the heat of my frustration,
Doubt and need, desires and wants,
To fill the depths of my imagination
And creativity,
But why was I still sitting
On this butt wrecking seat?
When all I could do
Was to wake up and make one step
Stretch one arm and get it,
Get the what I badly needed!
They took advantage of me
And slapped it on to my face,
They knew I could never get off that seat
That my butt was accustomed to the pain
Until my butt belonged to the pain,
The pain belonged to my butt
They belonged together…
The confirmed that the bench was fit
For my skinny butts
They were from hell
They added me cold porridge now
And filled my mug,
Made me believe it was all meant for me
But then I asked for that juice
They pointed at their audience
Ragged weary looking haggards
Who hawk-eyed my seat,
If only they had it,
To rest their burned out backs
And my porridge to lighten and brighten
Soften their cracked lips
Tired from their common stance
Shifting weight from one left
To another one on right.
They pointed at them
Now I want to hit me with
A whip, a sjambok , a flog
That circles my brain
To jerk awake, alive,
What stopped me from standing,
Dropping and picking,
Now my withered butts can.
A coward, scared of losing the mug
For a glass of juice
I bet they laughed and giggled
And laughed some more
Giggling and pointing and giggling
That made my stomach twirl
Like a red tornado with rage
But when I got up,
Like a soldier reminded of legs not lost,
Eyes fixed on the juice
Their signal ignored, guessing
How I would loose
Then the sighs and relief from the other side
They wanted the seat,
That un-seatable seat
On and on I forged, on and on they wondered,
I stretched the one arm
Reached for the what juice
Brought it to m lips
And so it was possible
I should have long ago
But that inevitable pain
Remain in the past,
If only I could change it
But no, it reminds me of that bench
The one I won’t go to again
The one that was akin to a cage
It is a memory with a scar
This inevitable pain.