Another Dime Store Prince

Another dime store prince
living in a nineteenth century
ice box.

Empty aluminium clamours in the night.
He’d already packed my things
but wanted my truths.

Frozen by fear, my truths are muted,
frost bitten, one more hurt
under the avalanche of snow.

The reflection of the city night, questions:
why now?
But in a world full of nows

there are no answers
and my dime store prince, so gentle,
so adamant to protect his solitary fortress –

he fears spending what he has not got
I wish this might have ended
different to the rest.

-L.J. Lenehan1220597235-m

Emotionally Spent

Reverberations from the language of Opera
in the office box, where I sell tickets to the cultured –
amongst murmurs of ‘wouldn’t it be fun to do her job,
just for one night, to pretend, to be part of the working class,
because we don’t have to’

In my human limitation I do my best to forgive the superior
attitudes that have no sympathy for a charity case, like me.
I imagining myself glamorous, singing in each act, except
for the last because I died, betrayed by a broken heart.
I head to the room I rent for eighty five euro a week,
stopping for a Kebab the Naan bread is cold

by the time I get to someone else’s home. Emotionally spent
from the drama of my imagined opera – I have a date
with late night radio – parental rights discussion on FM 103,
I wonder about the lives of these people with such strong views,
why do I never see them on television – mine broke a week ago.
Maybe they only have opinions late at night, on radio, when we are
on the brink of losing another hour.

-L.J. Lenehan-

lonely-women-looking-out 

Memories Of Me – Sold

At eight o’clock, in the black of night:
we agree to meet at the back,
where there is no light.
I will wait, expectations packed.

A few minutes late, I impatiently apply
more lip gloss, awaiting your arrival
hopefully hiding misguided
annoyance. Sitting in a car called: denial.

Scornfully, I know: it won’t work,
you were not interested, wistfully,
I daydream it will, but you: always smirked
skilfully dismissing my ideas as sinful.

I already knew – but suddenly – I realize:
you aren’t coming, there is no value
on the shallow attraction – you were long ago crystallised.
It was a game: not to be continued.

Alligator tears flooded my heart
my simple disposition: left me deaf and dumb.
You are the one my mother warned me about, bogart
of emotions, demanding all you couldn’t give, leaving me numb.

Emotionally bankrupt, you abandoned me in that car park:
a generic version of myself – you stole my memories
of me and sold them on, without feeling or remark,
menacingly devoting yourself to a life of debauchery.

– L.J. Lenehan –

memories of me

A Frankenstein Heart

My heart –
Like Frankenstein’s head,
A horror,
Patched up again and again.

Monstrous plays;
Enacted on hearts,
Of those we love.

Intermission,
Change direction,
Wardrobe,
Make up,
Transformation.

Always a happy ending;
Theatre rarely mimics life!

– L.J. Lenehan –