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Blondie
If you strain your ears
you could hear daycare man’s
blond-haired pig-tailed little
girl shattering her xylophone.
How straitlaced can a place
of rainbows and sugar highs
be, you remember asking
before you took the job.
You can’t take it, the
little girl always bothers
your lunchtime, hearing her
playacting rottenly.
Pink-eyed, you look
nothing like your parents,
you told her; she ripped
her hair out and cried.
The background soothes
the mind, he told you,
but it tasted like being
seasick and fuzzy.
Every channel in the TV
had that flower child boasting
bed sheets as skin; it had no
eyes, yet it was so po-faced.
It would always hitch at the
end, burning the VHS tape; the
girl would stare at the stained wall
for two minutes, hearing it crackle.
You turn on your present TV,
no more shifts, and you see
daycare man branded as a
blondes kidnapper.
Copyright ©
Nagham Al-Qahtani
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