(Don’t know where I’m going with this)
Her non smile sought him
Being prudent and afeared
He followed his feet
(a small nonsense)
In a small blue box
Deep in my corner cupboard
Sits a small, aged, marzipan frog
Sometimes, in moments of distraction
or caustic meditation
I dream which of my children
will inherit this prize.
It is a threat
disturbing their waking hours.
( an observation of my contemporaries, now I hate catching myself whistling)
Once the essence of romance,
now reduced to shadowing his wife
around charity shops and supermarkets,
his drawn cheeks constantly puckered with
that revolting suck, blow, tuneless
whistling that declares a man has entered his dotage,
devoid of the hope of passion
and surrendered to banality.
‘How does he love me?
With adoration, with fertile tears,
With groans that thunder love,
with sighs of fire.’
On witnessing an assault
Though not generally a cruel person, the ease
with which she flicked the cat from the chair
had a certain barbaric, triumphant quality.
The family, ailurophiles to the core, experienced shock
as if a gardener had beheaded a favourite rose
or a priest displayed Tourette’s.
The feline was certainly not amused.