Winnie the Pooh Trips, Falls and Dies

By | 1 August 2021

Winnie the Pooh trips in every episode
he is just so predictable like that
something most people don’t know about him though
is that, because he touches his face a lot when he is in deep thought
and because he is a deep thinker
he has problems with his skin

like a teenage club rat he has depressions
they’re small but they’re there, in between the fur
unlike me, Pooh chases butterflies like nobody’s watching
eats honey with his hands never mind the fur
and most of all, doesn’t let this kind of thing affect his self-esteem

although he lives rural he’s pretty easy to find
usually seated at the foot of the biggest gumtree or by the creek
Pooh’s comfort in any kind of country is psychopathic
in the way he sits fur on ground, or root or branch

in comparison I am out of place
wheeling a lightweight suitcase because I have come from the city
it bounces awkwardly across the rocks, gathers scratches
like a rickshaw in a ball pit it just doesn’t fit, gets stuck, drags

Winnie the Pooh wants to come to a party with me in the CBD
which is why I have come, to fetch him.

we have a mutually beneficial relationship of verse mentor and mentee
because I am only 25 and Pooh is 93, he teaches me about life
and I teach Pooh about all things sexual, because Pooh is a virgin

Pooh says that though he has visited many volcanoes
he has never been a volcano
he says all he wants is to erupt, like a cane toad run over by a car
what he wants is an orgasm that feels like falling asleep, but even better
something to bring him back to life
he has realised coming is more intense than honey
like a driver, Pooh is entirely confident that he can handle anything
so is excited for the party.

I find him leaning against the big gumtree fashioning a painful looking strap on
out of bits of spinifex, bark and one very long, thin stick
looking at him, his little round head bowed, paws fumbling
I feel a powerful but unidentifiable feeling rise up inside me

Hello Pooh
like a plane flying low over a burial my voice grates, slices and thins
and finally goes away
I try to sound cheerful, because truly I am cheered to see him
but my mouth stretching upwards feels like a deflated balloon
it has been tough in the city lately

Pooh’s eyes rest on me for just a moment before returning to his project
Hello Kat
he says, his voice round and unmistakeably gay

the first time I met Pooh was on my way to the V line at southern cross station
I found him drinking a Tsingtao beside the escalators at sunrise
and because I too had been drinking a Tsingtao, we’d both laughed

How are you?
I’m okay. It has been tough in the city lately, but now that I’m here I’m
wondering what about it has been so tough.

there is a brief pause during which pooh is touching his face
I feel my hand fly to my own face as if attached to a string
located just below the left corner of my lip is my favourite crater at the moment
I finger it lovingly and look around at the trees
stretching sideways rather than upwards, and through instead of around

Pooh has found a good spot too, on his forehead
I am overwhelmed by a sudden desire to wrap my arms around his firm round tummy
and squeeze

Pooh, unaware of my urges, folds his paws neatly in his lap
Pooh’s skin is in an improved state but my own is atrocious
virtually peeling off from my new medication, much worse than it’s ever been
my very own metropolitan disease
the silence drags

my skin is always worse in metropolitan areas because city life encourages
loops, or rumination, I think

Pooh shuffles rubs his right paw on the grass, fiddling
he finds a blade he likes and concentrates
as his face changes expression the old scars on his skin squish
closer together, further apart, this way and that
after a minute of this he turns his black dots to me
his eyes always a sideways colon

I think cities are quite wonderful actually
Pooh’s words comes his familiar blinking, doctorly smile
often mistaken to be good natured, the smile is murderous
as if to say, I’m not sure what any of this has to do with me
as if to say, what time is the train to the city

I feel disproportionately hot and heavy
as in anger everything slows down
the leaves shuffle loudly and suddenly in the stirring wind for what feels like a long time

Should we go?
I say, feeling upset now and no longer wanting to be around trees

on the train I feel like he is mocking me behind his mask
every time I try to make conversation I feel it

at the party we have an average time
Pooh meets somebody and I take a car back to my apartment alone
when I get home the made up sofa bed is pristine and untouched
I crawl inside the crisp sheets and fall asleep and dream of confronting Pooh

I am from the city and you are from the country
Dream me says
I am human and you are animal
but like you I have no real origin story
and like you I don’t identify with my family
are your parents still alive? You never speak of them
I am very, very humble just like you are
big brass gates and infinity driveways that’s not me
I left dress ups in 2001
I identify with you pooh
you’re always waiting for Chris and I’m always waiting for something
and you’re just so confident
with your skin… and you’re still such a public figure
I just wish I could be like that
I guess I just feel some sort of kinship with you because of your skin
because I have a similar thing as you know
but I erased myself from the entire world because of my skin
If you google my name you won’t find a thing

I care about things you wouldn’t know a thing about
Dream Pooh says cooly,
Even in the dream his eyes are like
. .
we have nothing in common
all you humans do is underestimate and objectify me
you know recently a human girl was surprised I knew the song Landslide
by Fleetwood Mac
And now you’re saying we’re the same?

when I wake up I call Pooh and we go to the gym and then we hit the spa and sauna
I don’t tell him about the dream but he tells me he had a great time last night
I drop him at the station and his goodbye seems authentically mournful
I will most likely visit him again soon

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