Closeness
Gina Wisker
Look how close we have grown together
in our old age.
Your bones against mine dear now
your blood turned
to lime.
Look how close we are with
you in the loft, preserved.
I can talk with you now as I never could when
besieged by business problems you would
rush home and eat fast
cutting yourself off
from my conversation
I can talk to you now
preserved as you are
here in the attic.
Your movements frozen.
Liberated from death.
I really rescued you!
At that point when renouncing
was to obliterate our love forever and cast you into the
obituary column
I rescued you.
So here you are.
And we can talk now.
Your joy, as mine, will be
eternally listening to
the events of my day, for a change.
Fashion statement
Gina Wisker
He wanted
a slim lady.
One whose curves were controlled by abstinence who
clearly and accurately knew the effect of
each mouthful
on her restrained and honed figure.
He wanted
a thin lady.
One who would replicate those images in the magazines
those fascinating images
on the TV,
on the screen of his imagination. He wanted
a very thin lady
One whose control over her body image whose
self control and self definition exactly matched his ideal.
The bones elegantly jutting from her hips, her elbows,
her neck.
The skull beneath the skin, the delicate
traced veins in her chest.
The pale, pale skin
The way in which, sideways she seemed almost to
disappear
obliterated by the image she projected
He wanted
a perfectly thin girl now who,
like the models on Sky TV stalked
the catwalks
scowling into the middle distance,
clothes of impossibly skimpy proportions
draped on her tall and lean figure.
And it was important
with such a beautifully thin lady
that she be there for him waiting when he got home; there
immobile now in her thinness
somewhat wan and static.
Somewhat quietened
But waiting for him
There,
for him, always.
Feeder / Feedee
Gina Wisker
Some people say fat women should be 'put down', 'it's hormonal'
'it's a thyroid problem'.
All your young life porky
Piglet miss piggy fatso.
No one fancies a fat woman, the curves and rolls of me the
warm moist flesh of me
the endless mountains of me.
I hated those mountains until
Paul found me.
Here up in the attic room of his house he fed me.
I have milkshakes and cream shakes.
I have doughnuts and something rather queasy through a tube.
Nightly we project my image through the internet screen
and a million shady fans log on
admiring my curves.
All say
the larger I get
the more they admire.
Contrary
to the nonsense of thinness
perpetrated by the media
men love large women
they remind them
of their enveloping soft mothers,
they remind them of warmth and engulfment.
Paul likes to feed me.
He loves to feed me.
As I
Grow larger it is more difficult to talk
but
why is that important? Here
in the safety of our home together
in this bed
communicating through the internet to all who love me,
more now than even Paul
more than I had ever imagined
contradicting those nasty tales about size.
Why would I want to move from this room? why
would I seek to be mobile again?
This is my home, my boudoir
my fantasy world.
Where are you Paul?
I am rather thirsty
Where are you Paul? My hunger is increasing
and it is no longer possible
to go downstairs
to help myself.
- Paul?----
Popcorn baby
Gina Wisker
Having cleared up the tea things
Wiped out the microwave
From the heated baby meal
And for her
The popping corn
But still peckish
The babysitter sat down to watch TV
Hoping the baby would hush and settle
But
He screamed
He screamed again
She washed him she fed him she dressed him she
Put him down
He threw his toys out of the cot
He screamed
He screamed again
Let them scream
This is the only way
On goes the TV
Turn it up
And the screams turn up another key
Topping out above the TV turned to maximum
Peckish still now
Watching the ad between screams
The ad about snacking
She surveyed the empty microwave
Even the popping corn was over
Even the last baked potato had been eaten
There really was nothing
and the family's a long time returning
and he screamed again
She decided to visit the screaming baby
Still shrieking
Riotous now hot flushed and storming sticky hot and runny
There would be only the one way to calm him
she decided
Popping him into the microwave
watching it turn ten minutes
Revolving
he seemed a little more peaceful
and the sounds resembled
popcorn.