The Diamond Between two Hearts – ©2014 by Trevor Patrick


The diamond dealer’s voice on the radio:
sounding like a tacky, screaming queen.

Repeating the lies that brittle chunks
of carbon somehow equal ‘love’…
Every year, it’s the same old scene.

“It’s Valentine’s Day-
you have to buy her a diamond!
How else will you
prove to her that you love her?!?”

My response is:
“How about I just get her
six dead African children instead:
the real cost of that diamond for my dear?”

And I’ll send a scarlet-dripping valentine,
from my friendly, neighbourhood warlord;
that I exchanged for more rounds,
for his child soldiers’ AK-47s…

Each one my own
little valentine to give them
the unique opportunity to take for themselves,
the faster route to Heaven.

’Cause flowers are trite and boring,
and chocolate means you sleep on the sofa;
but you can never go wrong
with a brittle, bloody diamond:
they’re a girl’s best friend, or so advertising has told us.

Just like a stupid card
for an even stupider game,
once again, every single year,
the commercialised stupidity
remains exactly the same.

And if you need a ♦
to bring ♥♥ together,
you need to ♣ the slave labour,
to get that ♦.

And if you use that ♣ too much,
you’ll need a ♠
to dig the child slave’s grave…

And you’ll need another ♣
to drag off more workers
to get more ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦