Limb Photography

Imogen from Pepper Hill
This story is about to kill
A sparkling daughter, twenty-one
Grand, sincere, forever gone

Nurse Love, she cut the cord in two
Father’s face a squeamish blue
Mother’s sweaty forehead facing
The queen incarnate, heart embracing

Freebie magnets on the fridge
Clarinet, near-perfect pitch
Private school, double kiss
Dental metal, Latin wiz

Ever-spinning record player
Leather jacket, custom layer
Music talk and lava lamps
Looking forward to the dance

April day, hidden rain
Horseshoe tunnel, broken lane
Velvet wind and velvet-eyed
Dump your Vespa, hitch a ride

Stunning seldom solitude
Everybody loves the boots
Wond’ring will there be a bus
Yellow plates approaching fast

Imogen strapped to a bench
Cerebrum numb, uncommon stench
Polaroids on the walls
The creature wearing overalls

The cabin cooked, the image raw
Mr Newton grabs a saw
Format, focus, flash and flicker
Exposure time, a busy clicker

Mum and dad on their own
Circling the landline phone
Neighbours printing ‘Have You Seen Me?’
Imogen is on the TV

Nestle in the cluster with the
Garlic flowers, wee small hours
A bed of rusty red, shape shattered
Teeny tiny pieces scattered

German shepherds start to cry
Law enforcement horrified
Tolponds Road, the path is slippy
Hair in her face, the perfect hippie

Doorbell rings, they brought the priest
Imogen was found deceased
Timelapse, OBE
Downfall of the bourgeoisie

Careful colleagues dropping meals off
Trying to be extra soft
Dad’s newsboy cap rests on a stool
No need to fill the garden pool

Boardgame shelf collecting dust
Someone take the dog, adjust
Kitty sleeping in the closet
Tins of untouched Easter chocolate

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