L’Inconnue de la Seine
by and published in Edition Eleven of Pomegranate
When Ethel’s face dropped in her cake
she let out a squelch then died forever.
A mask was fashioned from pouring hot
wax into the impressions she left
on her birthday cake then
eating
all the birthday cake. Then this was
grafted onto a clay-bust memory
of her shoulders which had gone
before the artist had a chance (the rest
was generic limb-stuff
that could have been
anyone). He sold it for silver
to doctors to practise cardio pulmonary resuscitation
but old lips made them sick
so it was rejected and the head left on a shelf
in the care home broom cupboard,
facing the door. Full up
on cake, he went to Paris and took up
drowning teenage girls. The staff
agreed the bust was disgusting –
five scorch marks circled the nose,
her hairy chin cast as the odd
waxed worm and the whole thing
smelt slightly of sideways almonds
but worst of all the manager
liked to fuck Jack discretely
in the top floor broom cupboard
and when Edith hit the marzipan
she left a grin.