Jonah.
One moment the house is all lit up.
The next it is plunged
into darkness
as though hit with a heart attack.
I scramble around the black cavern
of the sitting room
for the door handle.
I have to get out
amongst the stars
out with my beautiful garden,
the pig weed and the white magnolias.
I sit down on my little bench
by the birdbath
and catch my breath.
Now I knew how Jonah felt
when swallowed by that whale.
Today I have the mark of the beast upon me.
It came up overnight,
It cannot be hidden except by a mask
But when I take it off, to eat, to explain a matter,
to simply breather easier, friends,
people recoil at the angry red rash
that runs from the tip of my nose to upper lip,
like birds before a predator.
I cannot shave so look doubly abhorrent.
I am only grateful for covid where a face mask
can be worn without question.
It is my close companion, my Linus blanket.
The cat is the forgotten candidate when they fight:
sure, they hurt each other but the cat recoils too,
even the walls and lounge chairs at the suddenness,
the squall of this. The walls and sofas cannot move,
but the cat can. Exit, pursued by bear. Only small,
but with the memory of an elephant. The cat remembers
long after they forget.
They say I shouldn’t read anymore.
That I read between the lines.
What isn’t there.
They say I shouldn’t read anymore.
That I read the writing on the wall.
That I scare residents.
I scare visitors.
They say I shouldn’t read anymore
because I read the fine print
the little white-gilled toadstools hidden
in the mushroom fields of the text.
They say
they say
they will revoke my privileges.
From a corner of my mind it came
a timid little mouse called Shame
no one suspected no one but I
yet I saw it clearly with its ruby eyes
looking all around , urging a retreat
its grey fur twitched , its tiny heart beat
you can’t be seen with her like that —
the thought pounced on me like a black cat
& so , it implored me to do as it bid
& though no one knew , to my shame I did
Speckled with yellow and black light
he focuses on his phone, has he got it right?
Tentatively the fingers tap.
She’s aggressive, he defensive,
She certain, he apprehensive.
They both know what’s coming next
if he misreads another text.
*photo by Eddy Billard on Unsplash
I am lying in bed waiting for the Apocalypse.
It is due fifteen minutes after midday.
We have been told these things before.
What do they know?
It is sunny outside though clouds are building.
There’s a piffle of a breeze rustling the bush outside my window though I notice it is picking up.
Could there be something in it?
Damn. There’s someone on the phone.
It’s Emily from my insurance company calling from interstate about a failed payment.
I question some details.
Just bear with me a moment, she says, as she scurries off to her superiors.
Don’t be long, I say. The Apocalypse is near.
Pardon?
The Apocalypse’
I’ll put you on hold, she says.
Dogs whine, doors clatter, the sky darkens.
Just then ADT Security phones.
What is wrong with you people? Don’t you know the Apocalypse is nigh?
Silence.
I go out to the verge, bring in the bins, look around. The winds have dropped.
All quiet on the western front.
Gus, the Jack Russel next door, barks at my presence.
It’s okay, buddy. It’s only me. And anyway it’s been postponed.
What has? it barks.
The Apocalypse.
Again?
Yes, again.
What the %$%&#.
Calm your farm, buddy. We get to live another day.
I go inside, wait for the next alert.
My neighbour worried I was having a meltdown. She came by one evening with her three Pomeranians in tow as my brother-in-law pulled in to pick me up for a barbecue at their place. She assured me there was no need to panic, that I could stay as long as I needed till I found a place of my own. The front porch light shone down on us. Wings of light enfolded her as the dogs wound their way around her legs.
Who was that, my brother-in-law asked.
That, I said, was the Archangel Gabriel. Deliverer of glad tidings.
Huh? my brother-in-law said as we hopped in the car.
Good news, I clarified. I get to stay.
Summer-times I grow feral
Shed my suit of civility
& head into the backyard
Where I pee like an animal
But that saccadic screech
From the crab apple tree
& razor-winged birds flashing by
Threatening life and limb
& certain other appendages
Send me scurrying back
Where I l lift the lid & pee inside
Like polite people do.
John Malone 