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

amphetamine-alice

Image found on Pinterest

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

wordle-134

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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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