Nice bag, she says as I place it on the chemist’s counter.
Thank you, I say.
Yes, she says, admiring it.
Good looking.
Compact.
Square-shouldered.
Sturdy.
Not likely to topple over.
A bit like me, on a good day, I reply
She smiles, the sort of smile that says, I better humour this guy, he might be dangerous.
You have the attention span,
he said,
of a gnat.
I thought [briefly]
about that:
the skim
the look;
the review
not the book;
the single
not the CD;
a movement not
the whole symphony;
the single poem—
a story won’t do—
especially if short
think haiku.
Life’s short.
Try this, that.
Stay light,
says the gnat.
You don’t know what’s coming down the pike.
No one does.
Covid-19 showed that.
Now there are rumours of something else.
It doesn’t have a face or name
but the word ‘China’ is often invoked.
But no one knows.
But something is coming.
You can see its shadow.
Hear its footsteps.
Feel it breathing down yr neck.
And I feel like the poet Mark Strand
who always saw something coming down the pike
which is why he always slept, he says,
with one eye open.
What if I had a different biology,
say a trans or a woman?
would I still be me?
Would I feel the same?
Have similar attitudes?
Would I be a better person
if I were in different shoes?
Do you like this hi-neck sweater? she says. I’d like to buy it for you for Xmas. But you’ve got to keep it a secret.
I don’t know, he says. I prefer V-necks. Will you buy me a V-neck instead?
What have you got against hi-necks anyway?
You can’t whip your iPhone out or wallet from your top pocket at a moment’s notice, he says.
You’re not Walter Mitty? are you she says. You’re not a gunslinger.
But, but ….
And your top pockets are not holsters, are they? And this is West Lakes Shopping Centre NOT the Wild West!!
Can’t a guy dream? I smile
Nanette ‘winked’ me again last night.
I have not been on an internet dating site for years.
Nevertheless, Nanette has been constant.
A wink is as good as a nod ….
One day I’m going to weaken.
I will go down the rabbit hole of curiosity,
the labyrinth of love
and leave no note.
I may never return.
Please don’t try to colonize me.
I’m not unclaimed territory.
I own me.
*pic courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
Was Jesus a funny guy?
Would he have laughed at my pelican story?
Had he a sense of humor?
And if so, was it the self-deprecating kind
or the sort that skewered the pomposity of others?
You can’t tell me with those twelve disciples alone
with all those foibles
he didn’t have sufficient material to work with.
My guess is he compiled a joke book which the early Church
suppressed.
Did he do stand-up on the mount where he gave,
in his more serious side, the Sermon on the Beatitudes?
Humour should have been amongst them.
A person with a sense of humour is in contact with his humanity.
Even the donkey and hyenas know how to laugh.
The images of Buddha show him with a rollicking belly.
I don’t mean to be disrespectful but where are the images
of the jolly Jesus?
I bet if they met he would have shared a laugh with Buddha,
even exchanged jokes over a coffee or two.
I wait for the record to be rectified.
An ampler, more approachable sort of god.
I was walking along the Semaphore jetty
when a roly-poly guy from the Gospel Ministry
waddled up to me with a pamphlet, asking:
Are you a friend of Jesus, friend?
I said that I was but I didn’t know about
my web-footed friend almost at my side, but
if you threw him a fish I’m sure that he
would be too.
Now I don’t know whether Jesus had a sense
of humor but this guy didn’t even crack a smile
I’m sorry I said NO
to you
& you
& you
all those times
diminishing yr world
I could have done better
withholding affection is a crime
against the human heart
