The Return of Peter Pan

 

The Return of Peter Pan

 

 

Wendy, your Peter has returned to see

bedroom window shut. Barred against me,

its curtains, in sallow pink, flap open wide,

call more welcome crooks to peek inside,

while the frigid clasps, for want of use,

are fixed in stubborn hardness fused:

yet here I fly all milk tooth pearly grin,

casting cast off fairy spells to let me in.

Why do you draw back? Ah. Pain.

Now, printed here on paper plain

for readers’ gaze, the horror. Years strained

to drag down face, penned sagging rhymes

in drooping loops on that page’s aged lines;

Did you grow old, Wendy, promise broken,

exchanged true love for something token?

 

I can’t part with any change, shan't

pay to look, won't turn back pages of your book,

read lips’ gold thimbles were cheaply sold,

that hot pyres of longing burned only cold.

 

We should've used soap to fix dark shadows,

she might fly away when warm breezes blow,

her stitched on smiles unpick themselves,

in unread fables that fall from shelves.

 

Do you still believe in fairies

like you did when you were young?

But you’ve come and come and come

so many times, that songs we might have sung

melted like gold thimbles and are all gone.

 

You grew old Wendy, in promises broken,

forgot how to fly and Time has spoken,

like candles snuffed, all dreams have flit,

in cloud of moth, dun and thick, to fires lit

who tinderbox, burn and burn and burn,

melt lost tin soldiers, to gutter and yearn.

Roll all love’s imagination into one ball,

pitched into darkness where devils call.

 

And there she sits. Hides her beastly shape

in plain view for all, but you. Ah, it’s fate?

It lies not in the stars to steer our course,

but in ourselves, we must pick which crew,

like all lost boys, which ship to join, or lose.

 

Oh, she’s every pirate rolled into one,

her hook sticks deep and twists in death,

like cuckoo plants eggs in your nest,

stabs your flesh, cuts short your breath,

hangs off with teeth your sagging breasts,

like lead weights now they plumb new depths,

you partnered something you detest.

You wanted monsters? Her crocodile clock,

her tick tock stopped, her jaws are locked,

chain-stitched her shadow on your back,

her vulture smile snaps clackety-clack:

Oh Wendy, see what you have become,

you grew old before you grew young.

 

Please, my Wendy, look not so sad at me.

Take back those outstretched hands,

you’ll weep enough tears to blossom sands;

and they hang so heavy on my heart.

Would you conjure some ancient art,

try alchemy to turn free spirit to lead,

mould it into anchor, fix to sea bed

then watch us drown? Maybe you can

turn boy to man, but see your Peter Pan.

I gave you books of brilliant things,

but I cannot give you back lost wings,

Wendy, poor Peter returns your regrets,

and calls you to forget, forget, forget...

 

Forget.