Poems and Poetry

Dreams Are More than Scrapbook Fodder | A Poem by Paul Tristram

Twenty minutes or there abouts
after they have all left for work and school.
She grabs a glass bottle of Coca Cola
and her feet step quickly attic-ward.
As she closes the door softly behind herself,
she sighs just like always
and surveys her little chamber with a smile.
She’s been fascinated with 1950’s America
since a child and just knows deep down inside
that she was born in the wrong country and era.
Sitting cross legged upon the dreamcatcher rug
set under the little skylight,
she flicks through one of the scrapbooks
she keeps filled with cuttings of cars, diners,
refrigerators, Disneyland
and a bunch of postcards of Manhattan
which she picked up on eBay.
And daydreams away wistfully
about the Grand Canyon and Emigrating,
conscious all the while that it’ll never happen
for outside of this private ‘Afternoon Attic’
her Individualism and Courage cease to exist.

Visit Paul at http://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/.

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