TO ALL APPEARANCES
As per Janie’s suggestion
I’m changing my appearance
So as not to be recognised
At the border when we cross
From whatever this is to
Whatever that might be. I’m
A brunette and I don’t know
Why we are going although
I know we have to. Most of
The time it’s guesswork.
I’ve not eaten for days
In an effort to lower my
Cholesterol levels. The world
Is a little shaky. If I lay on
The grass and stare at the sky
Pretty soon the sky begins to
Slip away. I maybe ought
To drink more. Then maybe
I would start to see things
Differently. I’ve not always
Liked my hair. Soon we
Will be leaving and I will
Be forced to stop writing
Perhaps for ever. There may
Not be paper or pens where
We are going wherever that
Turns out to be. Happiness
Is only possible if there is
Stationery. Stationery and
A lack of movement suits me
Absolutely fine. I’m a blonde
Rapidly becoming silvery.
PINK
1.
I was wearing the frivolous handcuffs
But The King called and told me to take them
Off. It was after a concert: we had been ordered
To celebrate The Gods but had long known
Not to expect too much. Having spent the best
Part of the day in bed soothing a variety of
Frustrations it’s time to get up and at ‘em.
But only if you feel like it, which I don’t.
2.
The years are starting to weigh
Heavily upon the old men of the town
Who have taken to laying on their
Backs near the swings in the park in
The hope of seeing girl secrets.
When it rains—as is its wont—
They don’t mind because they don’t notice.
3.
I took off the handcuffs (pink
Don’t suit me) and swapped them
For a special kind of twine
Guaranteed not to break
Until the cows return from their travels.
We have been alone for a long time now
And grown used to not expecting too much.
4.
The day I received your letter—the letter
You sent from the island of make-believe
Where worship of the Sun and Moon
Coexists with worship of supreme wealth
Alongside cold-hearted callousness—
Was the day of The Games and I had a lot on
My mind. I had mislaid an attractive girlfriend
And needed some toys to throw out of the playpen.
This blog was the successor to the poetry section of the now no longer existing The Argotist Online. This blog is also no longer active, and is now just an archive.
Poem by Stephen Bett
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