One Shove

One massive push and we will shove the cart
Over the cliff, into the ocean. Why
It seems so heavy that we have to try
As hard as this, we reckoned from the start:
Inside it is your overgrown, dead heart,
The one you wasted. Watch it almost fly,
Regard it soberly, and shout good-bye.
Those rocks will break the residue apart.

You should have also used the left-hand glove
To keep from getting slivers in your hand
And scratching up your golden wedding band,
But you keep waving at your feckless love.
Just give the thing one last, decisive shove,
And move on. Push! What don't you understand?

Reeds

She was a magical imp of desire:
She whistled for me, showing how she burned
By grabbing me, explaining that she yearned
To tender this refreshing load of fire
(With my co-operation), dark and dire
Though it might be, to me. When we returned
From journeying abroad and I had earned
Some respite, I was hoping to retire.

I'm old now, but I really should be young.
I'm sleepy, but I should be wide awake.
There's no bread, but lately I've dined on cake.
Some residue of ash sits on my tongue.
The frogs have stolen all the songs I've sung.
The reeds are burning, lighting up the lake.

Dianne

Spanning the river, this bridge of stone
Has disregarded time, and it still stands
Between a pair of nameless foreign lands.
I lived on one bank with Dianne, alone,
Yearning for song, braying a monotone,
Sick with unkempt desire and aching glands.
We left our home and sold our wedding bands,
Using the funds to leave for parts unknown.

Yes, I've been lonely, but I am best so:
Dianne was no companion. She was lost
As I was lost, emotions like a frost:
Cold, thin, and transient, more an afterglow
Than real light, although heat may come too slow,
As we have since discovered, to our cost.

Our Noses

This time, we'll reimagine our disdain:
I'll turn my nose up at the western wind
(When will it blow, now that my blood has thinned?)
And you'll look down your nose at the small rain
(The absence of good sex made you insane).
We won't invoke a god's name: Odin grinned
At our discomfort, as if we had sinned,
And Vishnu the Preserver mocked our pain.

Up, down, our noses move in strange directions,
Around the area, down in the dell
And on along the river. I can tell
You'll join me in my sourest predilections,
Based on sniffing out these loose connections.
It isn't love, it's something that we smell.