Miss Nothing

She’s ‘The Nothing’ in ‘The Neverending Story’,
so well disguised as aurora polaris
and triple rainbow sunrises, people chase her.
The way she flaunts her body,
leaves the impression
it’s her first day with boobs, hips and buttocks,
an unlikely scenario for a twenty nine year old.
Her profile has the obligatory nightclub toilet
and bedroom mirror selfies.
A fake lesbian kiss
is followed by barely existent bikini shots.
The artist of the mural, in her parkland pic,
is better known than Halley’s Comet
and talent like hers more rarely seen,
but to Miss Nothing she’s as anonymous
as the galahs in their leaf litter graves.
All she knows is the painting complements
her matching handbag and heels
and the glue factory doesn’t.
Her most artistic experience, that summer,
was perusing a cocktail menu.
By morning, that journey of discovery
was as forgotten as men with
 crooked noses
and empty wallets.

 

 

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