Contributor: Michael A Withell

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For nine months you slept,
in your amber cave.
Fossilised specimen sat in stasis,
lying in state for that first parade.

Head-
(“Shoulder, Arms”)
Blue hue beneath a bed
of thick brown hair.
I sit-
dodge the flood of insults
birthed through a maze
of clenched teeth.

Lungs deflate-
deprived of a single
bated breath
Inhale-
rain raps on the window frame;
a constant taptaptap
of boney fingers on lint.

The ground shakes with
hand steps (inverted ballet);
nervous twitch switching places
with the gentle throb of a
giant hand.


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Michael A. Withell. Office Worker. Aspring Batgirl. All-round enigma.