Hung-over Fairytale: 6:38 by Anne Runkel

Hung-over Fairytale: 6:38

Formal introduction to the acid taste in the back of my mouth:

Aspirin. Water. Cheese sandwich. “Likewise. A pleasure.”

Hands shaking, I curtsy, grab the edge of the sink.

I’d better ignore the mirror and the strange frog

sitting amid the ruffled sheets, rubbing his eyes.

I leave the bed unmade.


Later, on my way to the station in the early-morning rain,

a raven on the rooftop: ‘She doesn’t care. She doesn’t care.’

‘Aren’t you supposed to be a pigeon?

Your wet, black feathers are not the quill that writes my story.’

I board the train at the very last moment. And sit –

thinking about white knights, and the cracks and dents in my nail polish.


By Anne Runkel


Anne Runkel is a young part-time poet and musicologist making a living as Administrator and Receptionist in London. She adores Getrude Stein and likes to tap her feet to avant-garde jazz and fresh indie sounds. Suffering from Cosmopolitan Nationality Disorder, she finds it hard to remember whether she is from Hamburg, London, Kiev or just a tiny island off the coast of France.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: