Save Me, Popeye
by Amit
Parmessur
I loved her
without hesitation. She dumped me without
hesitation.
Even Popeye
despite being so Herculean needs his Olive Oyl. I
too needed my girlie. But I think she misjudged
my feelings for some old straw hats full of dirty
cockroaches and stuffed them into a box of Tiger
kitchen matches.
She unjustly
threw the box of honest feelings into her
fireplace and added some more wood to the already
raging yellow fire. I guess she took my pure
heart for some dry heart-shaped tomato. Why did
she crush it so cruelly as if it were some cheap
Kleenex tissue paper?
She killed me,
throwing my heart into the Amazon River as if it
were a worn-out Gianna Meliani high heel shoe.
She could instead have wiped her running nose
with it. Or she could have written
‘Welcome’ on it and used it as a brown
doormat. My heart wouldn’t have objected to
being utilized as a Ralph Baer Chat-Mat too. At
least it would’ve been of some importance to
her and her family.
I worshipped
her, fulfilling all her demands. She’d been
crueller than Sylvia Ganush in Drag Me to
Hell, Lisa Sheridan in Obsessed,
Colonel Quaritch in Avatar and Bluto
combined! I guess she mistook me for some chicken-flavoured
Twisties and Blue Diamond Almonds too, ate me and
then went for her nightly brushing with her
preferred Arm & Hammer toothpaste after
hammering my love so expertly between her teeth.
I helplessly swirled down her dark porcelain sink.
I surely want
to be in a packed stadium but I just didn’t
know I would end up among some controversial
Jabulanis. She took my whole personality for an
Adidas pumpkin and kicked me hither and thither
in the endless disloyal streets of her heart. At
least millions of people would cheer if a pumpkin
is hit into the nets one of these days. She has
surely turned me into a laughing stock while I
have forgotten how to laugh.
I’m not
Popeye, who by simply eating cans of spinach
would become supernaturally strong and forget
pain. Even the ashes of a silly drunkard’s
Benson & Hedges cigarette now have more worth
than my burnt feelings.
I am not
Popeye.
How can I
become strong again? Every night I feel red-bellied
Amazon piranhas, uncompromising crocodiles,
bullish bull sharks, sinuous snakes and vampires
of all shapes, ages and sizes assailing my poor
heart. If it manages to escape my heart will need
years of intense surgery to be itself again.
I’m no
phoenix bird either to jump out of the ashes and
start life anew. I would still love to have her
back one day but then I guess her worth isn’t
more than that of an oily rotten olive. I might
need magical toothpaste if I taste her.
Just mix all
the colours in this story; you’ll get the
colour of her heart. She’s not human
certainly.
Give me some
magical spinach. Please.
Please.
Pleeease.
Oh Popeye,
save me.
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