Geraldine, the school prom queen, she’d been when she was aged sixteen,
Was now near thirty and quite dirty, she needed a good clean.
She wore black clothes, all full of holes, a woollen skirt and coat,
And old school tie with orange dye, and strangling her throat.

“Miss Suicidal” did we call her, for she very rarely smiled,
And though we laughed, she never bathed, she often was reviled.
I said to her with sympathy, “My dear, to me you are a friend,
And though you hate your life like hell, I’ll not leave you until the end.”

We spoke as walked we over hills, and down the valley by our city,
With men and dogs all barking round, she said: “I look not pretty,
And that is why I feel so bad, for wish I was a beauty queen,
Which I was once, those years ago, when I was aged sixteen.”

She stood still, lamb-like on the grass, and peered around the view,
And looked I down to see her leg had blended to her shoe.
Then from her mouth came out a splurt, an eerie sounding moan,
And then her skin went brittle, grey, as she turned all to stone.

“My dear old friend, why do you freeze to rock”, I said out loudly,
But as for her it was too late, her statue now remained there proudly.
With little choice I walked away, and headed home along the path,
But Geraldine would not return with me, I had to laugh:

“She hated life, she said so too, of this I always knew,
And hated people, young and old, she said to me ‘I hate you too!’
So what has come of her sad life? A nightmare, that is true,
She did not cry nor down and die, she’s turned to a statue!”

With her gone I felt now bad, all empty in my mind,
Yet when she’d suffered all away, I always had been kind.
Now my turn had come to suffer, the void growing that I felt,
And tears welled up from in my eyes, so to the grass I knelt.

Then thunderclouds above me loomed, I sat all shadowed in the gloom,
And then the day merged into night, and laid I there under the moon.
All around the air was black, like all the clothes Geraldine wore,
Then said I aloud to myself: “I realise now how I am poor.

“I thought I had money, riches, wealth, all piled up neatly on the shelf,
But in my imagination was it, just like my illusion of good health.”
Then I spied, from the distance running, a dog with gritted teeth,
That came a-barking towards me, I said aloud: “Good grief!”

I waited for that dog to bite, as it growled at me in the night,
But instead it only said: “I do not wish to fight,
For, see, I am not what you think, no I’m not what I seem.”
I said: “I recognise your voice, my dear sweet Geraldine!”

With those kind words from out my mouth, the dog gave me a wink,
And said: “My love, I am not dead, and you are smarter than you think!”
Replied I: “Love, I must confess, that once I watched you get undressed,
And you were stunning, beautiful, I must admit I was impressed!

“And yet you claimed you looked so ugly, but I never put you straight,
For you to me were like a princess, but, alas, now it’s too late.”
She said: “I am now just a dog, and like you I have many a regret,
But all is not lost, you can take me home, and I will be your pet.”


© 2001 Matt Everett