Marilyn Peck: ‘beds creak in the night’, ‘A Wasp Carries Leaves’ and ‘You Go To My Head’

beds creak in the night

beds creak in the night
as feet tangle top sheet
when turning over

noises and beepings
sing an octave in c major
while being monitored

cardiac ward’s
patients are all plugged in
and drugged for the night

morning then daylight
blood pressure measures impress
doctors make their rounds

make their announcements
their prognostications bleak
what can they improve

staying alive
when all is not yet over
is the main aim

Marilyn Peck

A Wasp Carries Leaves

Wasp scurries as it flies, seeking a protected
Place. Wasp’s preordained attention is to
Procreation. Clutching to its breast a leaf-
Proportioned relative to stresses of an upright
Stem, slowing on its progress from a tassel-
Flowered tree nearby, wasp flies, slow
Against wind’s mild but constant blow.

Part accomplishment in all its tasks, this.
A secret place for leaf’s deposit is success.
If wind is nil and wasp is well prepared,
A transfer of the leaf succeeds. Should
Wind be wilful, wasp hovers, attempts.
A limit reached. Then leaf drops unconstricted
To the ground. Wasp returns to bush where
Leaves are found of similar dimensions,
Length, width, softly malleable, freshly-flexed.

Clutching succulence, a red-kissed leaf,
Wasp knows by instinct a timed detachment,
Makes a flying transfer from the bush.
Oscillating wasp takes position, persevering.
Makes its ordered life worthwhile.
Patterns in dark emplacements hidden.

Marilyn Peck

You Go To My Head

Black Rose, Red Rose, and a glass of sparking wine.
White Rose, Blue Rose and a quiet place to dine.
Stars in the midnight sky, and it’s double summer time.

The tableware, on a table that’s made of Huon pine;
it’s porcelain. And the silver, the crystal glasses are mine.
They’ve been saved as best, till now, and it’s time

for their usefulness, along with the napery: linen, fine,
starched and very old. Thin fingers holding: it is a sign
that time is running out. Age is not a heinous crime.

Mention lyrics of: You Go To My Head, there’s a rhyme
that haunts me still. Burgundy Blues singers, a dime
a dozen Billie Holidays in their way of keeping time.

And the music’s made for dancing, close-held pivots,
to tunes from half last century: in my brain like rivets.

Marilyn Peck