WHEN MAZZY COMES OVER

a poem by Conrad Kruger van den Bergh, South Africa - poetry writer, author, poet

I hate it when Mazzy comes over.
She never knocks.
She just walks right in.
I guess because we’ve been living in the same hallway
and know each other forever,
she probably reckons she got the liberty
to walk into my place
whenever she wants,
…and usually I’ll be sitting there on the sofa
in my jocks,
watching TV.

She’s always drunk;
Dressed up like she just came from a hippie funeral;
fluttering through the front door
like an autumn cloned fairy;
her un-styled blond hair twisting all over the place,
following her like vapour;
with half a breast falling out of her loose
and shapeless dress.

She stumbles straight to the fridge;
yanks out one of my beers,
stands there and tilts her head to the side,
like she’s hearing the whisper of non-existing birds and nature spirits,
telling me how bad her day was…

I can’t stand it anymore….

I just sit there on the sofa
going: “….right….”, “….right…”, “…right…”

Then she starts getting emotional
and waves a hand in front of her face,
like she’s rubbing an invisible crystal ball,
telling me how the world’s going to come to an end
and that we’re all going to have to run to the hills,
live in caves,
drink from blood filled streams
and eat human faeces for a thousand years;
and I’m going : “…right…”, “…right…”, “…right…”

I can’t stand it anymore…

Then she says things like “…Vurnanamo told me….”
(that’s her Venusian spiritual guide in the astral plane)
…that we’re all the garbage of the world
and that’s why we’re not being saved and taken off-world.
It totally freaks her out knowing that she’s going to be left behind
on a toasted planet,
with a whole bunch of retards like me;
and I’m going: “…right…”, “…right”, “…right…”.

I can’t stand it anymore…

In some climatic sense of confusion
she heads back to the front door,
telling me how she needs to get back
because some guy’s coming over
and she can’t see herself sticking it out
till the end of the world with him
and I’m going: “…right…”, “…right”, “…right…”.

…then she leaves just like that.
No “…goodbye…”; no “…thank you for the beer…”,
…no nothing…,

I just can’t stand it anymore….

Conrad Kruger van den Bergh (2015, Copyright)

WHY MAZZY IS HAPPY AGAIN
All about Mazzy
DERRICK’S FUNERAL

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