Diminishing act, Loot & Dedication
by Iain Britton
[ poetry - february 10 ]
Diminishing act
I open a door.
A blind man bumps at a shop
window
feeling for a way in
(or perhaps he wants out).
Pedestrians squeeze onto narrower paths - perform
a diminishing act.
DRINK ME says a bottle
and I hear the soft peristaltic swallowing
of an afternoon.
The woman next door
sunbathes her back. Her back is pink
and a scraggy dog licks the sweat
from her toes.
Being Baptist
she reads the religious Text-of-the-Day
dips her fingers blissfully into wishful thoughts
plays Lolita
with a soft toy.
Effigies of her parents
grow like stumpy succulents in her garden.
Indelicately she shoves a small cake
into her mouth.
Loot
The fat man
proffers teeth
and a scalpeled grin.
Differences
apply
and you walk between his legs.
You have no intention
of sharing the loot.
Suffer the (little) children
isn't relevant to your situation.
The
clear blue pool
is
for swimming in
not for drowning in a flurry of remembrance.
Why
think of orphans stretched out
to dry on the parched earth.
In
your bedroom
stuffed
monkeys
make a meal of dissociation.
You load the car with heavy dreams. Which way
out of here is straightest shortest?
You vamoose
ferociously
carving
up playgrounds
living off misadventures.
Your breeding programme
is hands-on
experimental.
What's good news. Sticks.
Dedication
Beside the lagoon
amongst
ducks and coots
and firing squads
killing off the old meat
there's music.
Can't
count on it always
but today I feel it -
quills
scratching a musical score
in sunlight a wind
bumping across the water's skin
and of course I'm here
kissing
your lips. My favourites
artificially
flavoured
and
already well used.
A simple acknowledgement is in the offing.
I lick in the sound
of
your body, your vivaciousness
your song dedicated to
a
number of long yet
to be
composed intervals
between births and deaths.
You
mention birds
(like pigeons)
carrying rumours of the world's love affairs
on the hour.
