Locker Gossip

Everyone loves a bit of banter.

Voices.

Low, hard, intense.

Words flying quick and lively,

Rapid like machine gun fire,

Bouncing off the corridor walls.

A furtive glance over the shoulder,

Then back like clockwork,

Shielded again by their hair.

They stand in a ring,

Lips flying, tongues dancing,

Their eyes bright, living things,

Mirrored by their loud, laughing hands.

A quick staccato of shushes,

Punctuated by hard, punching consonants,

Tearing, bruising the hum of hallway chatter.

Fresh and hot,

From the messenger's mouth.

That's when it tastes the best.

Not just to be read,

In tacked on glossy, shimmering print,

Or inscribed in hard, permanent black and white.

We want to taste it ourselves.

Feel the words in our greedy mouths,

Chew, swallow, spit back out,

Pass it on, spread it like a tantalising virus.

Like a ritual, 

We lean in, chanting.

Drinking it all up.

Go on, we say.

Fill our mouths and ears,

With your regurgitated knowledge.

A cackle.

Oh.

My.

God.

Now it’s your turn.

Pass it on, spread it out,

We have hungry consumers waiting…

Author's Note

This is my first poem I've posted on here, so any feedback I'd really appreciate!

Reviews

[Tessa]

this is really clever! you found a way to describe how revolting gossip is in words, good job keep it up :)

[M.Ruby]

Thank you very much! :)

[Jenifer]

I was there, eavesdropping and wishing l was somewhere else. The description became a real place, an unpleasant place maybe, but there is power in that poem. Amazing.