Alice Afterwards

It’s such a fine day, she thinks,

as she saunters down the path to her gate —

a late morning after

her fine night painting the town

red and other colours.

The adventure of escape

no longer leads through rabbit holes

or mirrors. Now she needs

more control, can’t leave the kids

for unpredictable lengths of time.

But if anyone ever had cause

to become an artist — all

the bizarre and beautiful

things she’s seen….

So she slips out at night.

While husband and children snore,

she’s away with her spray cans.

Her signature, Lice,

is so obvious if you know.

But no-one knows.

The slight figure, like others,

is hooded in the dark. She is still

slim and small enough to pass

for a teen, a boy. They never talk

if they even meet. It’s a solitary thing.

She’s fond of solitude now,

having all those offspring and him

in the busy days. She likes her space,

in those silent hours when even

drunks and the homeless are asleep.

She needs no potion these days 

to be tall as a tower, tiny as a flower;

no smiling demonstrations

of a disappearing act. She has her own

magic, dispelling walls.

At 'imaginary garden with real toads' last Friday, Fireblossom asked people to write mash-ups, putting someone famous in a new and different situation. I only just discovered this prompt, a few days late, and it caught my imagination.