The
Well Rounded Individual
I found this thing
on the ground
the other day.
So I picked it up
- it was round;
it was a circle.
So I 'm standing there.
And I 'm holding this
circle.
That 's all it was,
it was round;
it was a circle.
And I was thinking
"I mean look at it
look at this circle,
it 's round,
just like the world we live in;
I can turn it over and over in my hands
but I can 't see it any other way.
I mean you know the world.
I can
turn the world upside-down,
turn it over and over in my hands
but it 's still round."
And then this kid
comes up to me
and says
"Excuse me Mr,
may I have my trapezium back?"
Looney.
Red
'auburn' hair?
- looks red to me.
Not a coarse red, but
golden and fiery and fine
as if sunlight was
trapped
in every other strand,
though some still linger
in twilight.
Framed in light
blue and red
dance
centre, left and right,
each fibre its own colour,
each colour constantly changing,
but bound to an unimpeachable redness.
Not a constant red,
but the red of
varnished teak,
translucent golden-syrupped resin.
Not an urgent red,
but the red of
danger lurking,
mystical, mysterious, luring.
Not a violent red,
but the red of
passion,
smouldering, rich, ember-like.
All of these
streaked
in an elusive red;
a glimpse of dark vibrancy
raging quietly in the half-light.
- but fair enough,
'auburn'.
If you prefer.
Madame
Butterfly
Madame Butterfly
swarmed into the room
and flourished,
dazzling our eyes
and egos with her
colours;
pestilantly fly
and fatty as butter.
Her glass always half
full
she eyed the room
for wealth,
as is the way
with social dealers.
The light of the
party,
she tried to flutter
round herself;
so did others
and burnt their
feelers.
She scoffed at me,
a moth in her shadow
- less colourful
by half,
so flitting by
on a current of
flattery,
I pulled her bright wings
off
and pointed
and laughed.
Mutton
That once hourglass lady;
she clenches her buttocks
as if it might stop
her sand running out.
But
it just makes her look
like she 's chewing a lemon
with her arse.
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