Water on our hands
a shrug, you say wet.
Peter is ill again
you wonder why he struggles
how he copes.
The rock we sit upon
is wearing down.
We’ll be dead before
this park becomes a mine or bomb crater.
The sun will kill it anyway
grief is written on the trees.
While I worry about my family
with a holy grace you murmur … heartmeat.
Andre Ponders a Simple Issue
If you gift me your life I will take it. You will be reborn as a narrative The rain hasn’t stopped you think that life has value? Us, out there in gale so much plastic. Body bags flap in the higher branches awaiting nothing more than name tags.
Hypnos
I sleep so much better when there’s no music or stories or work.
My lover beside me drives me crazy doesn’t snore or twist but still.
I fold myself true tranquillity teal no traffic outside early dinner & I didn’t watch the news.
My space is Nothing Time to wake up.
Sockrates
I was young thought the only options were barefoot or regimental boots.
A first ruin in a wrecker’s tale. plotted a new Carthage, Lothal (with some foreign language skills I’d be an officer). No bare feet for me but at the recruitment office doctor said fallen arches— invasions out of the question.
In boots I’d have judged my mercy. Barefoot I could have been a teacher. Mother said it was time to act my age.
Limited to orthotic trainers I ran & ran until I was right back where I began.
My new lover likes me sockless because the cotton is still made by slaves. Naked I am saved in the wriggles, the laces watch & grieve.
There Comes a Time
She’s giving up all that what will they think stuff— sorts out for herself what can be sorted but lets the wilds flourish within that edited life.
So much lost. Most of her friends are dead. Struggle, lose. Somehow okay with that.
Maybe a small disturbance can be a tide scours the sand of all rough flotsam. That engulfing cleanse can’t be fought so she’ll dive straight in.
Over across the sand her ex-lover still claimed the peak of the largest dune as his own. No audience beyond gulls & their staining. Thirst long mocked this pinnacle now he’s left wearing nothing but excuses.
No looking back. For her, there’ve been enough storms & creative earthmakes.