Fear of Balloons

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He comes around with perfect timing,
Hang-dog coat and dark eyes shining
Bag of tools, clinking in hiding,
Book of rules and schedule of tidings.

He funnels the air with his silky voice,
Changes the locks and gives me a choice
Of keys and pieces of curly wire
And matches and strings and everything, everything.

My Victorian doll's house
I sleep under the stairs
I get pins and needles
I grow nylon hair

Here he comes with bags full of mirrors
Boxes of wine and TV dinners
Four-legged, absolute certainty winners
Beat-up books with soft-center inners

He circles the house and cuts all the wires
Scrambles my numbers and lets down my tyres
Shades the bedroom and candles it red
He incants to me softly - everything, everything

My Edwardian doll's house
I squeeze into their rooms
I get pins and needles
And a fear of balloons

He comes around with pumping devices
Black coat shiny and voice full of niceness
He comes around with collars and ties
They're all the right lengthes and all the right sizes.

He circles me with his delicate fingers
The world doesn't end, the world simply lingers
He huffs and he puffs and my rooms get bigger
He incants to me slowly - everything, everything

My Suburbian doll's house
I squeeze under the stairs
Put my eyes to the windows
And count everything there
I grow pins and needles
I feel no fear.

~ Brendan Bonsack

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