Tuesday, 9 February 2016

Derek Rocket

Mother peeks her head into my bedroom,
“McKale, it’s time for dinner.”
I frown intensely and fold my arms
in front of my chest with a huff.

“I’m not McKale,
my name’s Derek Rocket.”
She only smiles with a gentle,
but immensely amused giggle.

“Oh, I’m sorry Derek!
It’s nice to see you again.”

Derek was my imaginary friend.
He would come and go whenever it pleased him,
not much unlike any other
child’s imaginary friend.

But when he did decide to show,
I became him.

I would put on a specific outfit,
clothes stolen from my brothers.

I would talk in a voice deeper
than my usually shrill one.

I would walk with a stride
filled with absolute confidence.

I would blurt swear words,
often being sent into a corner afterwards.

McKale wasn’t there when
Derek came over to play.

But, as time began to pass
with a frightening quickness,
Derek didn’t show.
He stopped coming over to play.

For days and weeks
I’d sit bouncing on my bed,
staring out my window
just waiting for him to arrive.

I’d wait.
And wait.
But there would be
no sign of him anywhere.

“McKale! Look what I found
in your old toy chest!”
Mother strode over to me,
holding out a shabby, red and black, sport jersey.

“Remember Derek?
Whenever you wore this shirt
I would have to call you Derek Rocket.
You’d get so mad if I didn’t!

Maybe, someday,”
Her lips slowly turn up
into a small grin,
giving me a sly wink.

“I’d get to see him again.”

"I prefer ugliness to beauty, because it endures" - Serge Gainsbourg

Ugliness lives, through Holocaust teachings and tomb stones. Sadness lasts eternal, while happiness only a few short steps. Yes, the ugly truth lives until death, but it doesn't live until death. No appreciation is present for the plain, grotesque, and simple. A world of gray, unlike the bright lights of beauty. Beauty is a star. Bright flash and nothing. Existence for the ugly is dull, but grows with non-existence into reality. Anne Frank was a mute until guilt came to be. In debt to beauty. A warm house, a present bulge, does that make awareness perceptive to ugly, or just a murky view through finger smudged lens?