PSYCHOMETRICAL

The girl at the checkout
handed it to me.
It was part of my change,
that five pound note.
It stung my hand!
So I jammed it
into patchwork purse
and hurried home.

Safe in familiar territory,
with eyes closed
and mind open,
I took it out and held it
in receptive hand.

The blow to my chest
was debilitating.
Reeling, winded
and on the point
of collapse, I saw
the underside of a car
above me.
And the blood - so much blood,
spurting fountain like
from mangled thorax,
to drip ghastly strings of gore
from murderous metal ceiling.
Inside me,
crushed lungs
gurgled helplessly.
Absolutely horrified,
I threw it down.

It seemed an age before I dared
open my eyes,
pick it up and look.
When I did
I found the stain:
a huge sprawling patch
of faded sepia that
tainted the Queen's head
with tragedy.

I couldn't bear to spend it.
That would have seemed
somehow sacrilegious, like
robbing a Pharaoh's tomb.
So I wrapped it in silk
and buried it deep
in the womb of Mother Earth.

Then I prayed for your safe rebirth.