Amphetamine Alice

She had a greed for speed,
amphetamine avarice,
barefaced wildness
and her name was Alice.
Her sandpaper voice
was a relentless screech,
a tidal swash and swill
that echoed down the beach.
Alice tripped through life
in a sanguine reverie,
believing that the fourth rule
would keep her spirit free.
She didn’t give zilch
for petty regulations:
she smoked in public places
and slept in crowded stations.
She wore a velvet dress,
fur coat, no underwear –
Amphetamine Alice
didn’t have a care.
One day she grew up
and opened her eyes,
middle-aged Alice
had a big surprise:
the world had changed
and so had she,
she had wrinkly skin
and was no longer free.

Kim M. Russell, 2016


Image found on Pinterest

My response to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Wordle #134 “December 19th, 2016”


16 thoughts on “Amphetamine Alice

  1. Interesting poetry, Kim. It had me reflect on the meaning of the fourth rule; to act as if something is true until proven otherwise. As we grow into life, childhood innocence is certainly transformed. As we age, dreams can come true with wrinkly skin. ❤

    Liked by 2 people

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