Maire Fisher

Let her be lettered

She letters her days with layers of sincerity and deep feeling, but that’s all it is – a lettering of emotion. Pretty words lettered with pretty letters, with curly loops and Is (me me meeeeees) littered with hearts. I letter have it. I let loose with a blowtorch. I letter her surface with heat, branding her pampered skin. She lets her fingers loose through her alphabet and r+u+n+s out of the room, literally trailing a mess of  oos and aas and ees  and How could  U U Us  behind her. I let her out. As she lets open the door she lights upon a letter on the mat and lets herself down to pick it up.

Poor girl – letterbombed to smithereens.

She flies apart at her conjunctions, into a smattering of  petites belles lettres, her epsilons and upsilons, alphas and omegas all afloat in a gloop of alphabet soup. I’ll beta hasty retreat now.  Before she rewrites herself into a froth of scatology.


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