The Priory Girl

Lloyd Hartley

She was a corpse,

the girl. A friend of a friend.

Long wiry fingers

accentuated every word

that pretended she was okay.

She snatched for breath,

poor girl. They said she was well.

Sharp cheekbones cutting

through her food, making it the meal

that meant that she was better now.

Her eyes were sad

today though. Not a big surprise.

Light was made of it

like she was better now.

She slipped quietly to the loo.

She ate it all,

the girl. She had chocolate tart

after risotto

and sipped through an espresso.

Then slipped quietly to the loo.

She sat back down

with mirth. It made me wonder

just how far down her throat

those bony fingers had to go

to drag that smile onto show?

Based in Yorkshire, England, Lloyd Hartley spends most of his spare time reading, writing, swearing, and running. He dresses like a ponce, collects records, and prefers the company of his cats to most people. He is writing a novel.