Beast

There was a man in our street who had an apparition in the middle of an afternoon.

 

He was driving on a country road where on a whim he took a detour. His wife was beside him. They drove down the avenues and streets and occasional crescents till they realised they were caught in an infinity loop. The man began to panic. It was like that time he was stuck in a lift. He could feel his heart fibrillating, his bladder wanting to burst, his vision blurring but he held this from his wife who would accuse him of weakness.

 

That’s when he saw it, the apparition. It came for him, lumbering down some labyrinth in his brain, a Minotaur bristly and bellowing, big as a tank, barging into him. His heart stopped.

 

His wife never knew what happened but she found her way out.

 

 

 

A Bird Flew into My Mouth

A bird flew in my mouth.

I gulped in horror.

If it were a mozzie,

A blowfly,

No worries

But a bird

A wattlebird at that.

It panicked in the echo chamber of my mouth.

I wrestled it with both hands

Trying to pry it loose.

Suddenly it plopped out like a fish.

It staggered in the air.

I staggered along the path.

A bird in the mouth is worth two in the bush.

My friend quipped.

So how was it? he asked.

Surreal, I clucked. Surreal

Proceed With Caution

Proceed With Caution, the sign said

But I proceeded anyway

& came upon a cat

On the cold hillside

Its fur

Damp with dew

Its head

Helmeted in cling wrap

& wished the hell I hadn’t

An Off Day

He was having an off day.

No reports came in.

The odds were heavily against it,

Astronomical, in fact,

But there you were,

Blue moons, black swans, a win

In a billion dollar lottery.

They happen.

But it didn’t help his mood.

Perhaps he should stop wearing black.

Lighten up a little.

Wear something trendier.

T-shirt, chinos, loafers perhaps?

He had become something of a cliché.

What would his boss say?

Would he be let go? Demoted to Accounts?

He was not a pen pusher

But a man of action.

His shoulders slumped.

His scythe dropped.

He let out a sigh.

No one had died on his watch

That day.

The Wall

She calls from one of the Northern beaches.

“We were going mad, “ she says. “We had to get out the house, You know what it’s like. You start twiddling your thumbs, staring at the wall…”

“Or even climbing it,” I add.

“Yeh, like a spider,” she says.

“Or even the ceiling.”

She chuckles.

“Things look better from up there,” I say.

“Where?”

“The ceiling.”

“You okay, granddad?”

“Yeh, I’m okay. You kids have a good time, Thanks for calling.”

And I crawl a little further along the ceiling. A fat, juicy fly has landed nearby. With one bound ,,,,

A Half-Van Gogh

“I am getting a half -Van Gogh,” I say over the phone.

“A half -Van Gogh? What is that?”

“You know how Van Gogh lopped off his left ear after a fit of madness, or so it’s claimed?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m getting half my left ear, the lobe lopped off.”

Silence.

“Why? Why would you do that?”

“It’s cancerous.”

“Oh dear.”

“You said you would love me even if I had half my face missing.”

“I know but …”

“Hello. Hello…”

Ring tone.

 

The Poems I Have Not Written

 

I am outside late at night

Writing poems

About the poems

I have not written

The ones I’ve turned away from

Because of embarrassment

Or timidity

Or fear of shedding my jovial persona

and find somewhat alarmingly

that the poems I have not written

far outnumber the ones I have.