Monday, 7 November 2016

The Whole Darn Thing

The lemon-bleached letters on the ground
A message to the morning sleepwalkers
Their way to work read backwards
A sense of real life happening in dreams

A dog squats and unceremoniously pees
An acid drop melts a wormhole in the ground
Nearby the irony of a garden of wild flowers
Weeded, tended, not wild at all.

On the threshhold from street to park
A chalked poem to a captive audience
“A lemon wedge between my sharpened claws”
writ large in double spacing across the narrow path

I leave the poem behind and cross the park
The trees like sharpened claws
The grass sliced into wedges by tarmac paths
And I want to squeeze the life out of it this time

A lemon-coloured leaf falls at my feet
In the distance the sad snake of traffic
Seal-like skins of joggers dodging
Yellow jackets of safety-first cyclists

The colour of a winter sun
And facing it the sun-worshipers
Motionless, they soak up every ray
In case they miss it, the whole darn thing

No comments:

Post a Comment