The Secret Garden
As if aware of death,
nature threw a shroud over things
best forgotten. Like the time,
sunk on Plymouth Gin,
you opened your lungs to the moon
and dashed a tumbler on the rockery.
Or when, with nerves splayed,
you flung some unloved vase
at next-door’s cat; missing,
they said, by a whisker.
Aware only of ourselves,
we arrived with shears and tro...
Tuesday 5th October 2010 3:09 pm
Portrait
Please, do not take my photograph.
It is not the wayward tooth,
or the botched parting in my hair,
or the emphysemic hollow
that makes an empty coat of my chest.
None of these things bothers me.
It’s the old saw we know is untrue yet
cannot deny; in fraudulent smiles
the lens finds truth, the camera does not lie.
Tuesday 28th September 2010 6:32 pm
buying time
Groping for change at the meter, I find,
with a frisson of fear, the right
amount - to the penny - amongst the fluff;
detect, in the clever clunk of coins, something
final. You, outside the surgeon's room,
prone in a paper-thin gown; me, wondering where I
stashed my ticket, thinking about buying time....
Wednesday 22nd September 2010 6:11 pm
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