A story for Biscuit

May 16, 2011

So Biscuit,
your daddy, he goes
to east London on Tuesdays to
a rented flat
in a house of brown bricks
where children play cops and robbers outdoors in the summer, and
women gossip and hang laundry out
their windows to dry.
Your daddy goes, Biscuit,
and knocks on door 22B

She lets him wait, Biscuit
She lets him wait two minutes, maybe five and then
opens the door
in her knickers,
lets him in without a word and he enters
without a word

So he comes in, Biscuit, and the flat
smells of smoke and her perfume
(like heaven)
Her black skin reminds him of coffee and gold
and her ass sways
as she walks to the kitchen
while his palms sweat
and his fingers burn

He grows hard, Biscuit, grows so hard
that he thinks he might die,
that his heart will stop
And Biscuit, I don’t know if he even
still likes her,
but a girl’s gotta live,
and daddy pays rent and he fucks like a prince.

When he closes the door to 22B
two hours later
he knows, and she knows
that they never
closed
their eyes,
even for a second

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8 Responses to “A story for Biscuit”

  1. claudia said

    i hate that she tells the child about it – really makes me sad and angry – very mixed emotions with this poem anton, it’s well written but i feel like if you just poured an ashtray into my mouth..agh..

  2. claudia said

    back…i think that’s what you wanted…you wanted the readers to get mad..with the repetition of the name, the strange name and everything…you managed…well done anton – i think that’s brilliant (and i’m still mad)

  3. I think you could make some of the line breaks work harder. Just in the first stanza, look at your starting words:

    So
    your
    on
    to
    of
    children
    outdoors
    women
    their
    Your
    and

    Here’s a thought, this and two dollars buys you coffee:

    So Biscuit,
    your daddy, he goes
    to east London on
    Tuesdays, to a rented
    flat in a house of brown
    bricks where children play
    cops and robbers outdoors
    in the summer, and women hang
    laundry out their windows to dry.
    Your daddy goes,
    Biscuit, knocks on door 22B

    These kinds of breaks set up different tensions (where does he go? what do women hang?) and also give a few interesting solo ideas (“cops and robbers outdoors” becomes more than a child’s game, Biscuit is now almost himself knocking on the door in the last line).

    Ashtray in the mouth is right.

  4. Gay Cannon said

    I thought asthemoonclimbs comment was interesting. I had no problems with the poem as written but when I write my abstract poems I often don’t know where to put line breaks.

    I am curious why you changed the spelling of Biscuit in the second stanza. Is it significant? A clue to the nickname? Biscuits have a different meaning in the US to the one in the UK. Yours are sweet like cookies. Ours are less like a scone and closer to a dinner roll but baked with a muffin like texture. I wondered if the nickname was like “sweetie”. It can also be a euphemism for a turd.

  5. forpuck said

    Gay,

    The different spelling is because I can’t spell, sadly, not because of any deeper meaning.

  6. lori said

    boy, can you tell a story, even in all it’s uncomfortable glory (and, I did not intend for that to rhyme – that would be annoying, wouldn’t it?)

  7. Shashi said

    Powerful and the subject of the verse is evocative and sad.. I liked the way you brought in the repulsive nature of the act in very simple words…
    Thanks for sharing…

    Shashi
    ॐ नमः शिवाय
    Om Namah Shivaya
    http://shadowdancingwithmind.blogspot.com/2011/05/whispers-buddha-and-life.html
    At Twitter @VerseEveryDay

  8. Emotionally stirred. Thanks… I think.

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