He wouldn’t come out
of the closet
though she shouted
& shouted
his name
like a trapped bird
flying from room
to room
hiding from Auntie
was too much
fun
to let her discover
how he could disappear
at will
be there in this
too too
solid flesh
one second
& then cease
to exist
he laughing himself
to bits
then scared shitless
as her ogress footsteps
approached his hiding place
like a fairy story
turning Grimm
her voice
flinging open
the wardrobe where
he hid
up inside her
hung skirt
(the Sunday one with brown
buttons on & pink pleats)
he standing in her
shoes
(the sexy Sunday high heels)
invisible because he had
become her
clothes.
She stares
& stares
unsure of being
sure
her breath
hissing through her nose
he almost
pissing himself
it seems she is just about to
when...then
she turns
& goes
trots downstairs
leaving him alone
in the darkness
her whalebone corset
like an alien
creature
digging him
in the soft back of the knee
its vulcanised smell
getting up his nose
giving him
the creeps
no way now is he
going to come out
of the closet
she can shout
& shout
“Can anyone tell me
where that Dónall goes? ”
she wails
Llke a Lady
from Shalot.
He giggles
to himself
camouflaged amongst
here among her
tights & stockings
frocks & dresses
hiding up her clothes
invisible to the last
steadfast as a shadow
amongst shadows
A mystery
even to him self.
Does one have to be as old as I and remember 'The Shadow' radio program in order to love this poem? Hardly! ! The wonderful glee of a hidden child and the fear of discovery....in universal! And so very wonderfully recalled here and shared with us as readers. HOW DO YOU DO WHAT YOU DO SO WELL? You do something to me... Something that simply Mystifies me....what a great song...what a great writer! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There's nothing quite like hiding in mother's wardrobe and I only ever came out for tea and cake....... Ruthie