PS
i
and then the door
resumes its spin cycle
in the lobby
washing suits
and briefcases
towards the street
her laughter not
lingering among
the wall-hangings
her scent never piercing
the cigar smoke
giving the black-tongued
gentlemen a taste
of something
not quite Havana
Cuba
ii
it looks unappetising
but slightly better
now it’s hot
and the TV is crystal
clear since the new dish
went in
sometime last week
the salesman was right
about that
fifty eight channels
and a credit card debt
and frozen dinners still
frozen in the middle
but you get used to it and
it’s better without her
breaking plates with the
scars still fresh and
it tastes better
than it looks
iii
the applause
when it comes
is like a downpour
from a clouded ceiling
the final note
already drowning
in the back stalls
with the cheap-seat
people who
having failed to
pre-purchase dignity
lose sight of Mozart
in the dry glow
of the exit sign
Fortune
i
your chinese lanterns
house electric bulbs
to ward off insects
and bad dreams
things that fly by night
are often dead by sunrise
so it’s no surprise
to find you
in the kitchen pouring
coffee with a lifeless arm
careful not to let
the earthy grains stray too far
from their resting place
ii
"ignorance never settles
a question"
was my ancient wisdom
in a crunchy shell
after the first failed to satisfy
"you will have
a prosperous future"
somehow lacked
the prophetic touch
as I did
forecasting happiness
in the face
of shifting winds
iii
cyan jade is the colour
of a dead moth’s wings
things that cry by night
are often quiet by sunrise
so it’s no surprise
to find you silent
by the window
stitching history back together
and mending a chinese lantern
with an electric smile
Copyright © 2001 Josh Garden
