Thursday, October 18, 2018

In My Fashion

It makes as much sense as a dead clock's tick
To follow me. No, I'm not lost. I'm seized
By wild delight, inordinately pleased
To hear the show beginning, at a click
Too loud to be ignored, the runway slick
With hair oil. Now I hear somebody sneezed
While this was going on, her bright hair teased
As high as Everest, a clever trick.

A genius made these costumes, never fear:
The wings of angels, the deep reds of dawn,
The swirl of feathers, silken feel of lawn,
The sound of solemn praise still in my ear.
It hasn't been as passionate a year
As I had hoped. My sense of humour's gone.

Thursday, October 04, 2018

Six Hundred Dollars

I paid six hundred dollars for the fire,
And something more for fixing up the cars
We drove between the clinics and the bars.
No costs accrued for grace, or chicken wire,
No charge was made for preaching to the choir,
The sapphires in the peanut butter jars
Were complimentary, and in the stars
We saw our futures, ready to expire.

Perhaps it's been a difficult few days
Because we couldn't even contemplate
How bad things were. The hospice nurse was late,
The sun was hidden by a smoky haze,
And there were some unspecified delays.
There were complaints, and tears, but no debate.