You’re rather too fat,
and the hair
on your vulva, legs and back
must have grown by mistake;

but then, it shifts
my gaze away
from the sickly pallor
of my skin
and this mottled wall,
and the caked-on paint,
and this ink-stained desk,
and the arrhythmic beat.

I stare at my feet. But
there’s respite from this when
I’m regaled with tales of Eden
and God Almighty on the screen —
and for twelve bucks, I can wish it was me.
It’s a happy routine,
but the walk home always sucks
as I negotiate the cracks in the footpath
and the unevenness of my step.


~ by David Heslin on 20/04/2011.

One Response to “Utopia”

  1. I always wanted to write a poem about the madness that is body prejudice, and this is it. So much of our contemporary Western media is geared towards the damaging doctrine of perfectionism that it’s started to derange our collective psyche. Anyone for a Brazillian?

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