He steered me towards the artichokes
in the market in
the hairy haunches of horse.
—bong bong bong bong—
the refrigerator is making cold—white noise.
The golden labrador
in our frog pond
making a meal
of our one water lily.
Because I shifted the sugar bowl to another table
the ant struggling underneath one white crystal
may have a WTF? moment as it fetches it home.
If I hang her picture up, she will be safe.
They love you too much or not at all or in the wrong way.
When I read his hand I saw two children—
Yes two, definitely two, a boy and a girl.
As it happened they were my children too.
Actually, I have had three children
but one was a flop. And I forget
about Jonathan, most of the time.
He didn’t know me in my red beret
I used to wear a natty black bowler
he said as if it was all my fault—
You’ve changed the colour of your hat.
A Night at the Theatre
The play was bad.
The set was bad.
The actors were very bad.
The directing was bad.
The lighting was bad.
The sound was bad.
I wanted to leave at the interval
but my husband said—No, it’s rude.
The supper? The supper was good.
The little dog next door but one barks and barks and barks.
One person on a camp stool, painting.
One person on a camp stool, watching.
I led her into the ring on her scruffy pony
but she balked at answering questions
about the points of a horse and some such.
She turned and said in a small, clear voice—
I don’t want to be judged. So I led her out.