Poo Corner – Issue 20

FIRST MEETING

A boat hit amidships

as a force majeure announces itself

and the small, light vessel, without cargo

lists and begins to sink slowly in;

below deck the seeing rushes in

flooding all compartments,

the engine stops unable

 to function at this time:

above deck, all is still in order,

the lifeboats are counted,

released and filled with memories,

the drill is followed rationally

so some part of its complement

can return and salvage the experience

for the wonderment of heartfelt analysis.

A nuisance by invitation I came with ears pre-wired

for background noise to mask any overheard intimacies

Yet, by your single day of the week enthusiasm for idle chatter

asked me some small thing that may have given an impression of inquiry

Opening such a craic to allow your freshness to waft out

you inadvertently ensnared this social rodent:

before I knew it I was gnawing at conversational sustenance,

gobbling up the crumbs dripping from barely closed jaws,

making an animalistic exhibition of myself:

thus is my thinly-veiled appetite.

You make the most of it, this mild annoyance, taking  it in your graceful stride, laughing about it, eventually; even feeding it sometimes, for entertainment’s sake.

LAST MEETING

Memory reaches beyond closed gates

commingling cursory flashes at beautiful fates

your table replete with bread rolls

mine stocked with mirrors reflecting holes

There were real times when through words

a corporate copse bristled with songs of birds

but snapping rules and measures sent them away

a once living five hours are now a dead day

spent passing a lovely park content in listening

to your voice, your mind; your smile glistening

inadvertently mocking, with veracity of beauty,

childish dreams, juvenile desires, entombed in duty

you need no more japes, no more trivialities

needing only to return to well-chosen festivities

NOT EVEN CLOSE

Still. Looking at heart level

for a sign to anywhere

indicating something to stop

this nothingness gnawing

away at my flesh.

To love as I profess to live

here, nowhere, reading headline

laughter, knowing not even

a punchline, trying to retain some

dignity in scratching through

your archives finding only

performance flyers, my name

third on the bill.

Proximity can be

 a cruelly ignorant arbiter.

MEMORIES

No more than praising the shining sun

or the rain laughing at our vulnerability,

I, in innocence or egotism,

cup my hands and watch

how the small palm puddle evaporates

by some universal law,

there’s an earnest joy in

the accident of not taking it personally.

You are a cause and effect

of life’s value, at once immense

and minute, a grain of sand

like no other.

I wait, as quiet as winter snow

for the guilt of my shadow

to disappear, then merge

in sumptuous colours of love

and vital shades of doubt,

whilst your energies crackle

under a surface,

your voice of eloquent leaves

and autumn downpours

advise me of my foolishness

naturally, without rancour

drawing me to hear the song

of yourself as real and beautiful

as you’ve always been,

unseen in a miasma of hope

that blindly yearned and deafly whined

penned in obverse isolation

too close to a painting

with outstretched fingers

needing to touch rapture, once, more.

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