busy plotting his dream’s course
avoiding straight lines
On witnessing a people drama …
Alone with her thoughts
she stares into her teacup.
Waitress walks over
So, what happens next?
She gets up to leave.
She stays and cries.
She stays and laughs.
She orders another tea.
The waitress throws her out.
The waitress sits down.
They leave together.
She’s joined by …
On re-reading Joyce
(see 19th December)
I’ve returned to Ulysses, no longer a task but an enjoyment, and it is a delight. Perhaps ‘finishing’ has to be got out of the way. It had corrupted my perception and now I’m free. I may be some time.
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.
As I write, a bee, seeking sanctuary from the cold March weather,
lands an inch from my pencil.
He looks bit bedraggled; perhaps that’s what he thinks of me
though I’m probably too big to be seen.
I presume ‘He’ because it doesn’t look like a queen.
Up and down, he does a few press-ups, warming himself.
And off he goes,
looking no doubt for early dandelions or forsythia,
a rescue from this too early awakening.
Clearly not impressed by my writings.