Pages

Thursday, December 18, 2003

"Contra vim mortis, non est medicamen in hortis"

there was that old joke again
"she died from lack of breath"
only its true
she died from lack of breath
stopped breathing and died
she meant it too

the bench was slimey
all green
lichen maybe, they call it
or maybe it was moss
you'd never want to sit there
unless
well - unless you were green
a greenfly
or some kind of rare green bird
perhaps not from Britain
an ordinary green parrot
that would do

sometimes when touching the bench
it becomes her skin
all clammy and wet feeling -
like the lichen or moss
or whatever
its then she's there
laughing
almost hysterically
she knew it was one of my things
you know?
that hatred of slimey
almost as much as the
chicken under your fingernails thing

the buddleigh is dead
the purple is brown
but the green is always green
the garden is always awake
and the bench
the bench watches

one day someone will come
and scrape the lichen away
but she'll still be dead
and the garden will still be green.

©2003 sk


"Against the power of death there is no remedy in the garden".

No comments:

Post a Comment