Hope won't mind

Hope wont mind if she rests a little,
she wont mind, will she, if we Jazz
fingertips skimming along the cleft
of a taffeta dress, if we ease slightly
this way, a little to the right,
a little to the left, down
the slow drink notes
to the quick step chorus line,
drumming up the steady bass
pipe syncopated tiptoes
to the drink me in skies, where she is, skirt -
hitched above her knees, stroking her weary feet,
looking down from her pedicure bed
through the starry, starry night.
Hope won't mind...will she?
If we take her daughters
pour wine to their puckered lips, soften
their robes, smooth the gathered pleats
at the meeting of their hips, and watch them dance
Jazz notes, a little this way, a little sway
that way, Hope won't mind, will she,
raising her eyes to the heavens, to the left,
to the right...Hope sighs; switches
on the TV for News at Midnight,
for dessert, her favourite Soap.

Daf is dreaming

Daf had been sitting there staring into space,
could have been hours, could have been days
meditating in the wicker chair, when she turns
to look at me and blinks; could have been an idea,
could have been wind, I’m really not sure, so I ask her
if she’s been wondering what life would be like with long eyelashes –
and she raises her eyes to the sky – like I should have known
she’s been wondering about the hypnotic eyes
of a peacock, and a hen; the hen wondering
what life would be like with long eyelashes.

Door in a Field

It’s not so dramatic, of course - the door was in a field,
the middle of a huge field, just there in its frame, slightly
ajar; and so unwelcome guests would leave quickly,
the broom tucked in the groove left for hinges
to feel their weight; creak, loosen,
and sense some movement in the breeze,
because there was a breeze in this particular field,
and I knew it was a field because it was green,
not black and white like in the dreams people have,
not in colour either, or there would have been sky, some trees,
- and cows would have appeared chewing the cud,
- and although this now has already happened,
- and other things too, people running around
from tree to cow, building things, having revolutions,
I left the door right there slightly ajar, and watched
from a wicker chair like Van Gogh's, upset
with how the field is so easily cluttered with trees,
cows, and people running round in circles
when I thought what I wanted was a clean frame
to imagine irises like he painted
by walking backwards away from canvas,
or seeing you walking through the door, looking just fine,
carrying some shopping bags from your favourite place
somewhere in the green field that I was on the very edge of,
wondering where the door had gone, and why I was
sitting by the banks of the same river watching the litter pass,
scuffing trainers on the brickwork, waiting for the ferryman,
trying to cats-cradle beams of light



©mar27/08

Daisy,

The other day, a complete stranger
ran up to me and said, ‘Let’s
get married! Let’s get married!
and hopped on to my tandem.
Naturally I replied, ‘Miss,
we’ve only just met. Please -
remove yourself from my bicycle,
that seat it reserved for Daisy.”
Mercifully, she obliged and wandered off,
just before Daisy appeared
carrying a shopping bag for her dad,
“Alright Ducks?” she said, “I’m knackered”
and placed her belongings into the basket,
hopped on board, buffed the chrome with her hanky,
and looked just fine, “You take it easy, my love,
I’m as fit as a fiddle to peddle the metal.
You freewheel a starfish.” and peddled off,
hard up the hill; easy-sailing all the way home.