HER IMPERFECT MEMORY (a.k.a. Two Poems for International Women's Day)

Her Imperfect Memory

All she is now is a name,

full name so as not to forget.

Sometimes she's her golden mane

with curls as memory set.

With focus she becomes her stance,

her wrists bent down as she walks,

little jiggles suggest a dance

but soft groans whenever she talks.

And yet every morning, she’s there

right on the tip of my tongue,

obsession with absent blue stares

soon gone with the day begun.



She Died at Second Cactus

Mary the Sioux,

they'll say,

made a move for their guns,

those Hamish Boys,

and fired through the brim

of a ten gallon hat.

The boys so startled,

Mary shot a boot

and ran through

their screaming,

caught up by their cursing.

Out of breath

in an open desert,

Mary passed a cactus,

emptying both barrels

till the Hamishes

were halved.

Facing away,

Mary the Sioux,

felt and was felled

by a fraction of wrath.

Last glance at a second cactus.

Yes. The second cactus.

There is an end.

That should be it.

Still onward wagon

to a foregone conclusion

of a White man's devising.

DATES (a.k.a. A Bit of Bitter Verse Inspired by Local Events but Probably Not the One You Expect)

She took me to a town crier competition.

The bells and the 'hear ye's

drowned out the harsh words.

She took me to an impersonator concert.

We pretended to be

better people, off-stage.

She took me to a demolition derby.

We saw everything crushed

and the wheels stop spinning.

We did have fun.

Some.

WOMAN BUS DRIVER (a.k.a. A Vehicular Valentine's Day)

Bus on time - 
right on the line.

Climb aboard,
faith is restored.

Long dark hair:
hard not to stare.

Glasses gleam;
smiling, it seems.

Fare given,
now I'm driven.

Sat up front,
we start to shunt.

Mirrored smile,
she steers a while.

At the stop,
time to be dropped.

The doors part,
so does my heart.

VOWEL LOVE (a.k.a. Something That Struck Me As Funny the Night Before)

Shall wee saaay goooodniiiiight?
Suuuuuureeeeeeely aaaaaaaa kiiiiiiiiiss wiiiiiiiiiill  dooooooooooo?
Yeeeeeeeeeeees, aaaaaaaaaaaaa beeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuuuuuutiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiifuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuul seeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeentiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeent beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeetweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiips!

MINISTRY OF YOUR SILENT SMILE (a.k.a. A Belated Valentine Day's Token)

            I love the way you look. It's tax deductible. It's a corner, an unexplored niche in an unexposed market.

            I started off proceedings with the initial twitching of your lips. I bought the office space, a small building at first but this enterprise has an implicit potential for growth.

            Currently it is just me but I'm already running interviews for PAs. They all seem to meet the specification. The sparkle in your eye will indicate which one will best suit the role.

            I've kept on the cleaners from the last use of the building, they've been doing an outstanding job at upkeep. They leave the walls and floors as clean and tidy as the crow's feet on your face but, just to be certain, I've shown them the new aim for which they're now expected to reach.

            I've got rid of all the white walls, chosen a cream that approximates the colour of your midday skin. I've reshaped the windows so that they look out on the city below a la your clear gaze. The carpet is, of course, of a similar consistency to your auburn hair immediately after a shower. I even managed to incorporate the coconut extract.

            With the building on its way to being sorted, I've since turned my attention to how we'll regulate numbers. If your smile turns out lopsided we'll be wary but if it's full we'll rest assured. Considering the general lack of middle-class employment in this area, I'm sure we'll see these offices fill up soon enough.

            Yes, I can hear it now. Walking down from my office patterned with your light green iris and desk the salmon of your lips, pre-stick, post gloss; I will hear only the slightest hum of life as if from within a closed mouth: inhalation, exhalation. The front, what the world will observe, will only be silent. They won't see the productivity but they won't be able to take their eyes off the product.

            It'll be complete adoration. It'll be quiet communication of the fact. Your smile keeps me running and now the world.