Are you lost? he asks.
I don’t know, I say. I think so.
What’s that bracelet around your ankle?
Oh that, it’s a monitoring device in case I get lost.
So are you?
I guess so. I was wandering like Wordsworth. Only he saw daffodils.
So what do you see?
I was just looking at the windy lake, how the waves arch like dolphins through the water and i thought of that song
The one that goes: ‘I wish I could swim like dolphins can swim’
You see that?
Yes, don’t you? Excuse me, that’s my phone ringing. I really have to take this. Alright, alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m coming right now. I have to go, I say.
So you’re okay then?
Yes, Someone’s waiting for me, waiting out the front.
That’s good. Anyone you know?
Yes, someone I know very well. But it’s okay.. He found me. We lose each other from time to time.
Soon as I get home, I’ll lock myself in. for the night. That’s when my mother used to wander too. It’s for my own good.
Harvesting the cane would do it, so would elite tennis,
pounding the pool for Australia,
all fodder for the physio:
you lie prostrate on the plinth,
narrow as an ironing board
head down in the gap,
arms at yr sides, feet fastened at the base —
a cozy crucifixion,
planking for Jesus,
while muscles are massaged, kneaded.
coaxed into submission,
the little pummeling fists of current bringing you
to the shores of bliss
I wonder if spiders
in their webs
‘bout me & you
nattering away in the moonlight
in neat little haiku
you with your cigs
me with my brew
of jasmine tea
spinning our memories
of how things might be
or would they instead
taking a jaundiced view
spin snarky little
Those rosemary & garlic sausages
to ‘beef up’ the barbie
in case the eye fillets weren’t enough
to stink out the fridge:
‘the beasts revenge’ ;
so when we took them to your place and you declared
your barbie was ‘lamb intolerant’
we hit a snag
so when I said, I’m going to have to put them in your fridge
I thought you would say,
my fridge is ‘lamb intolerant’
but you never did;
in spite of those setbacks
we had a pretty good evening
though when we left we forgot to take home
so we hope you enjoy them
in one form or another
and no, we do not need them back
Not a tower of giraffes
Nor a bloat of hippopotami
But a petulance of poets
Gathered in a side room
Of the library
Each champing at the bit
Wishing the bore out the front
Would bugger off and let someone
Worthy get on
Not really listening
But when their turn comes,
Oh the words, the words,
Such melody, such sweetness,
Was ever anything ….
Barely noticing that many who had already read
Had buggered off home or hit the bar.
I have heard Stand-Up Comics are much like this.
It is no laughing matter.
- pic courtesy of Wikipedia
You’re in for a treat, I say.
We’re off to see Arthur.
My toes do a little tap dance on the floorboards.
Come on, you two. Mustn’t be late.
We hop in the car and we’re off.
Thirty minutes in the Waiting Room
then the call.
The doorman lets us in.
Arthur bounces up to us.
Cheerful. Chubby. Cherubic.
Have a seat, he says to my toes
resting my feet on a pouf.
30 seconds one foot.
3o seconds the other.
Done and dusted.
All over red rover.
It’s a tough job,
but someone has to do it.
he says, chirpy as a cherry.
See you in six months.
My toes do a little dance
on the way out.
You are furry like a dog
sit at my feet like a dog
follow me around like a dog
always under my feet
but you don’t woof.
You are my slippers,
a handsome, friendly pair.
My ex never liked you.
She said I’d be wearing
a dressing gown next,
smoking a pipe,
reading cozy murder mysteries
in front of a log fire
but now it’s just you & me.
You often hear the phrase
‘let me slip into something
as a prelude to sex
in steamy novels
but comfortable to me
means something else.
You can’t get into much trouble
wearing yr furry friends.
- pic courtesy of Pinterest
I am about to read a book called ‘The Ninth Crypt’,
A novel I acquired for twenty dollars at the supermarket
But fear I may have made a grave mistake:
Browsing through the blurb I see mention of only
The ninth crypt, all well and good, but what about
The other eight? Perhaps the author is planning prequels
Based on the success of this volume but seeing he is
Now a septuagenarian who came to writing late,
This is most unlikely; perhaps if I bury myself deeply
in the text I shall disinter enough cryptic clues
To keep me happy — but at 800 pages !!! I await
Clarification; in the meantime this tombstone of a novel
Shall stand on my shelf of great unread books.
- have you got any big unread books on your bookshelf?
- photo by Grangeburn on Pinterest
My rubbish bin has lost its lid
& asks me what to do..
“How would you feel if your Id,
was exposed to full view?
All that rancour, all that passion,
the outright lies and fibs
You wouldn’t want someone peering in
the trashcan of yr Id.
And what if the rain should tumble down?”
“All right,” I say, “all right, don’t be such a squib,
I’ll phone the local council up.
You shall soon have your lid.”
Everyone should have their lid,
pleasant though firmly secured.
The Id is not a pleasant spot
& should not be long endured.