The Time Traveller’s (Scary) Wife

I want
to tread
lightly,

to not even
leave footprints

hallowed out
by the shape
of these
wandering feet,

even after
monuments
and civilizations
have turned to dust.

I will be there –

the sacred dance of
ashes and flames
that flicker around
aborted moonshine,

my hot breath
contained

in the westerly gales
that shoplift
the panama hat
from your egg-shaped head,

my kisses
the force

that sends you reeling
as a poorly-aimed punch
ricochets off
your jowly cheeks…

And my laughter?

The loudly
mocking tones
of the Asian koel,

who will survey
a coat-embalmed back

traipsing off
to the porcelain
mistress

from its
leafy ensconcement
in the weeping
raintree!

© Zelda Reville


The infamous Asian koel that is rarely seen and always heard – a call that inevitably climbs up the decibel scale, becoming the unsavoury 5.30 am alarm for half-asleep jobbers and schoolkids alike.

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3 thoughts on “The Time Traveller’s (Scary) Wife

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