Poison Pen
A number of years ago I lived in a flat that was owned by a professional woman who lived in the room above. Throughout the night, I would hear the banging of typewriter keys reverberating through the ceiling above. It transpired that she was writing poison pen letters and sending them to the relatives and friends of people she knew. I moved away from the area, but I often wonder what became of her.
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Hump back hunched over Remington-Rand
She punches the keys with long suppressed hate
A ragged haired dog adding scent to the crime
Slept to the beat while she drummed up those lines
Flights of fantasy, diaphanous truth
Left an atmosphere that deepened the gloom
The stories composed with a long held psychosis
She mailed the vile libel without chocolates or roses
Signed with no name and a poison pen, poison pen
Signed with no name and a poison pen
Her victims were stupid, they need education
These words were to help so she shared them around
She imagined the pain and from that she got pleasure
A flood of emotion she would enjoy at her leisure
Live by the sword, die by the sword he said
So she re wrote the end and it justified the means
The ending was more than her world could afford
As she found that the pen is mightier than the sword
Signed with no name and a poison pen, poison pen
Signed with no name and a poison pen
Signed with no name and a poison pen, poison pen
Signed with no name and a poison pen
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