Fractured Verse
{A Bumbershoot Special Feature}

Sylvia Plath

Sylvia Plath at the Supermarket A parody by Janet Kenny

Glass doors open and close
To trap me in this iced light.
Voices float around. What do they say?
Blood and bone packed by white-coated
Attendants. Why do they look?

Why does he stare
At the bread so strangely?
Why and when will he turn
And show me his eyes?
Butter has been used for worse than bread;

It slides and oozes—sticky jam
Smears scarlet with the memory
Of slaughtered calves torn from mad cows.
Pathological denial—
Bread and butter does us in.

They want more from me;
They march me in a condemned line
To account for decisions.
I will have a nice day.
I deserve this sentence.

 

The Moon and the Yew Tree As fractured by Anon

Again I’m depressive and blue.
There’s a grimacing moon in the yew
with an aspect of hag
and the tree’s fingers wag
and the saints in the church are blue too.

 

 

The Disquieting Lingerie Floor A parodic collaboration by Christopher T. George and Anon

The black slips hiss their strumpet come-ons.
The corsets are of a bone material.
Visciousness!—
The thongs are terrible,
They would give me wedgies.
The bras extend their hooks, hooks, hooks