SUNDAY MORNING

It is Sunday
we sit in the living room
each with our lattes
she brushing the cat.
I sat on the sofa
with the Sunday Times.
We are listening
to radio Hele Norge,
unsure why, the
Norwegian caroming
around our ears,
the speakers noticing
nothing different.
We’re not quite sure
how the weather is
in Lillehammer today,
but it’s sunny here.
Neither of us
pauses to wonder
what Archimedes would
make of it all.

LISTEN UP, ABRAHAM

A commentary on a holy book
suggested snakes
cannot hear one another.
Perhaps their deafness goes
beyond family and species.
It would do much
to explain God’s rejection
of Eve’s proffered excuse
that despite her protestations
and those of Adam
the snake would not
take no for an answer –
a deaf snake, after all
having spoken, has little
to do but move along
to the next monologue.

REMEMBERED

She said she
recalled the spilled
glass of wine that stained
her white linen blouse.
She said
the city swallows people
like a hungry beast
that will never be sated.
I taste the summer sun
and the sweetness
of an early rain
in the Shiraz
that foretells
approaching winter.
The city is a cat
that curls by the lake
and purrs to
the gently rising moon.
She, who was once
very real, is now
little more than
a fading dream,
and I, the dreamer,
willingly cede that dream
to the wonder
of this moment,
and this.

DEAR CASS

She’s getting downright boring,
every night lying up there,
staring down when she decides
to part the clouds, saying nothing,
as though all of the words of praise
for her must come for us, unreturned.
I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised
by her vanity, it is why, after all,
she is up there now, unable to move
and we have to accept that our words
are small salve to her when the gods
invert her, and she is left
to gaze down upon us in her mirror
when she bothers to stop
gazing at her own image, but she says,
“I have all eternity, Poseidon be damned.”

COUPLING

 

He asks when
as if it were all
a matter of timing
as if the immediacy
or lack of it
somehow really mattered.

She would never ask that
but would want
to know who.
She’s far too polite
to ever ask why
preferring to see the scene
in the mind’s eye
allowing a thin
veil of mystery.

Each wants to know
how the other found out
though neither has
the slightest idea
where this all began.

BITCH

She’s a real bitch, that one,
and there is no telling her anything,
at least anything she doesn’t want to hear.
And to make matters worse still,
she can be so damn alluring, and you know
when she turns it on you are hopeless
to do anything other than fall
hard and fast under her spell.
We’ve done this before, too many
times to really count, and she will
sooner or later, but never when expected,
turn on you and leave you wondering
why you fell into her trap yet again.
But she’s Mother Nature, after all,
so what choice did you really have.