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Joy Reid is 34 years old, married, and lives on a hundred and thirty five acre property which borders a state forest in South Gippsland, Australia. She teaches, dreams, reads novels, writes poetry and loves red wine and smelly cheeses. Her work has been published in AntiMedia, Solas, Sparks, Poetry Future Express, Snakeskin, The Empty Shelf, Dream Forge, Ygdrasil, Neologue, Pauper, Eternity and others.


Dark Planet is designed and edited by Lucy A. Snyder. If you spot any errors, or if you have any comments, please contact her at lusnyde@cyberus.ca.

All materials copyright 1996-1999 by their respective creators. No stories, articles, poems or images from this webzine may be posted or published without the written consent of their creator(s).

Failing Liz

by Joy Reid

Her clothes shriek availability
or desperation
or worse.
Shocking pink lycra
and cheeky little tees
define a figure the worse for several children.
'Like two walnuts in a stocking,'
a colleague observed once
referring to the belt lashed
Scarlet O'Hara tight.

Last year she flirted

with Aerobics
hence the hennaed hair
the bobby socks, biker shorts and Nikes.
But no-one's fooled
she sports no calves.

Last week I met her down the street
transformed into street walker chic.
Spiked Hayworth heels
click, clack, clicked
cross the disapproving cobbles.
She wore a coat

vampire red
that waterfalled to the floor
gaped to display
an obscenely mini mini.
I smiled and squeaked 'Hi Liz,'
her smile boomeranged
genuine in its return.

When I returned to my small town home
I rummaged the cupboard
drew out the coat
smoothed the soft fibres
then rolled it in a ball.