its wooden claws curled in upon themselves
and i laugh to see the way it seems to fight
against the indignity of the dirt
the dust that curls up around it
like a lover's touch sinking gently
into each curve, each carved curl
it may be stubborn in its shine
such a proper Victoria
with her straight back and sloping arms
and how the upholstery tucks in tight
leaving no seam visible, as is right of course
This is why I chose it today
to push it, quietly protesting,
out the silent sitting room and down the stairs
with a bump that would have shocked her
but what did I care
so here it sits
drawn up in itself
in the middle of this flat expanse
they politely call a yard
and I call a desert, a weak piddling excuse for it
but a desert nonetheless
and here I leave it to retreat to the porch
the storm breaks like judgement
splattering across the tight fabric
like machine gun fire
and I wait laughing
when the lightning hits I am not surprised
the gods have taken my offering in the spirit it was given
piece by piece I accept this destruction
moment by moment they steal my genes from me
and when the last knot comes undone
the lightning will come
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