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The Pedestal Magazine > Archives > ISSUE TWENTY: Feb-Apr (04) > Poetry >Arlene Ang - Tea with Miss Marple

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I poured her tea she quickly spilt
while flustering a tale about Betty Kendall
who convulsed towards arsenic death.

Her husband was arrested the same day
he braved the registry office with Miss Miller,
the nurse assigned to their hemophilic son.

I murmured regrets she waved away.
All I am asking you is to be careful, dear.
You're young. No sense risking your life for a man.

Mattie will never hurt me, I laughed.
She shook her head vehemently, you know what I mean.
And left without tasting my raisin biscuits.

That night I already saw James frowning,
angered by my inability to express devotion.
I emptied his solution down the drain and wept.









Arlene Ang lives in Venice, Italy. Her poetry has recently appeared
in Melic Review, Absinthe Literary Review, Tryst
and Tattoo Highway. She has received a nomination from
Verse Libre Quarterly for the 2003 Pushcart Prize. An
e-chapbook of her poetry, Dirt Therapy, has recently been launched
by Slow Trains (http://www.slowtrains.com).
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