A part of me
17 June, 2009
Everything fell through my fingers today. My life slid away
before I could catch it. Me, broken up into a million
pieces, raining down from me, bouncing on the floor,
rolling along the tarmac, disappearing down drains. I saw a
dog gulping and knew it was a part of me, gone forever.
People outside the school stared amazed as I scrabbled on
the floor. But I was wasting my time, most of me was
already gone, trickling away.
I gave chase down the hill after what was left, but it was
no use. A bus ran over part of me by the prison and a child
stuffed a little-known but treasured slice of my memory
into it's jacket pocket. Some of me melted in the sun by
the Jamaican restaurant, and a hose blasted me to
smithereens at the car wash. I saw a man praying over bits
me by the chapel in the old factory, before he ate me down
between two wafers. I even saw a small chunk of me being
sold for a few pence in the second-hand shop.
By the pub with the seats outside, I came panting to a
halt. It was too late. A bus trundled past and I watched
someone pointing at me and laughing through the window,
triumphantly holding up the last piece of me I ever saw. I
leaned against the wall and smiled ruefully at a passing
woman with a bow in her hair. But she didn't see me. I
don't suppose she could.