I'm at the "will this month never end" stage. Today I wrote two drafts of new poems for an online course, got one off to CV2's 10-word/48-hour contest, and just finished watching a poetry reading. I was about to slink off to bed or something when I remembered I haven't yet done today's poem.
An occasional poem. As in, for an occasion. (After Michael McClure's Death Poems)
On the Occasion of My Own Eventual but Still Impending Death
who in the mirror is that exactly
inching ever closer
to the end
the fence in the curtilage disintegrating
to the point there is no longer a curtilage
and the neighbour
has put up
a fence of their own
suggesting in a passive
if slightly aggressive manner
they'd like mine to go
I'm
g
o
i
n
g
a
l
r
e
a
d
y
don't need reminders
will stop the damned clock
before it stops itself
before the battery
runs
out
(all our batteries
running out)
refrain from looking in mirrors
take down fences
that curtail life
exactly who is that in the mirror
who thinks this way
talks this way
wonders yet doesn't
about how
where
why
it will end
this life
don't fence me in
goes the song
and I'm transported to a house
babysitting for a baby
who always slept
bless it
while I listened to Frankie Laine
on the old record player
don't fence me in
mirror mirror on the wall
who the fuck is that
remember when
her hair was black
now
her face is gaunt
her eyes are blurred
*
remember when nothing ached
not
a finger
or
an ankle
or
a heart
now I'm headed for the range
and still
there are fences
to mend
w
h
o
'
s
t
h
a
t
p
r
e
t
t
y
g
i
r
l
in the mirror there
whose clock is that
who started it
and
who is changing
the batteries
§
2 comments:
Wow. We really were on the same wave length, Linda.Well done and original..the presentation, not the theme, which has become ubiquitous in my thinking...
Thanks, Judy. I think it's a work in progress. (Like life)
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