POETRY.


ENTER WITHOUT SO MUCH AS KNOCKING


Memento, homo, quia pulvis es, et in pulverem reverteris.


Blink, blink. HOSPITAL. SILENCE.

Ten days old, carried in the front door in his

mother's arms, first thing he heard was

Bobby Dazzler on Channel 7:

Hello, hello hello all you lucky people and he

really was lucky because it didn't mean a thing

to him then...

A year or two to settle in and

get acquainted with the set-up; like every other

well-equipped smoothly-run household, his included

one economy-size Mum, one Anthony Squires-

Coolstream-Summerweight Dad, along with two other kids

straight off the Junior Department rack.


When Mom won the

Luck's-A-Fortch Tricky-Tune Quiz she took him shopping

in the good-as-new station-wagon (£ 495 dep. at Reno's).

Beep, beep. WALK. DON'T WALK. TURN

LEFT. NO PARKING. WAIT HERE. NO

SMOKING. KEEP CLEAR/OUT/OFF GRASS. NO

BREATHING EXCEPT BY ORDER. BEWARE OF

THIS. WATCH OUT FOR THAT. My God (beep)

the congestion here just gets (beep)

worse every day, now what the (beep beep) does

that idiot think he's doing (beep beep and BEEP).


However, what he enjoyed most of all was when they

went to the late show at the local drive-in, on a clear night

and he could see (beyond the fifty-foot screen where

giant faces forever snarled screamed or make

incomprehensible and monstrous love) a pure

unadulterated fringe of sky, littered with stars

no-one had got around to fixing up yet: he'd watch them

circling about in luminous groups like kids at the circus

who never go quite close enough to the elephant to get kicked.


Anyway, pretty soon he was old enough to be

realistic like every other godless

money-hungry back-stabbing miserable

so-and-so, and then it was goodbye stars and the soft

cry in the corner when no-one was looking because

I'm telling you straight, Jim, it's Number One every time

for this chicken, hit wherever you see a head and

kick whoever's down, well thanks for a lovely

evening Clare, it's good to get away from it all

once in a while, I mean it's a real battle all the way

and a man can't help but feel a little soiled, himself,

at times, you know what I mean?


Now take it easy

on those curves, Alice, for God's sake,

I've had enough for one night, with that Clare Jessup,

hey, ease up, will you, watch it -


Probity & Sons, Morticians,

did a really first-class job on his face

(everyone was very pleased) even adding a

healthy tan he'd never had, living, gave him back for keeps

the old automatic smile with nothing behind it,

winding the whole show up with a

nice ride out to the underground metropolis

permanent residentials, no parking tickets, no taximeters

ticking, no Bobby Dazzlers here, no down payments,

nobody grieving over halitosis

flat feet shrinking gums falling hair.


Six feet down nobody interested.


Blink, blink. CEMETERY. Silence.


By Donald Bruce Dawe




8 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

POETRY.

POETRY.

POETRY.