I ... entered the poem of life, whose purpose is ... simply to witness the beauties of the world, to discover the many forms that love can take. (Barabara Blackman in 'Glass After Glass')

These poems are works in progress and may be updated without notice. Nevertheless copyright applies to all writings here and all photos (which are either my own or used with permission). Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your blog posts as much as possible.

5 May 2008

We Live on a Quiet Street

We live on a quiet street
in a house where strange things happen
like just today this caravan stopped
right across our driveway
and disgorged three women
three colourful women
who strode up and down
both sides of the road.

The plump one with pumping legs
came up to our door
while I ran and hid
from her bright red hair
and forceful voice
leaving my brother to talk to her
and tell her this wasn't
the house she wanted.

The van was rectangular steel
with rounded corners
and windows curtained in white
and it was big and they all
piled out of a white car towing it
and they were dressed normal
and they didn't look
like a tribe of kidnapping gypsies.

But they were
and I knew it was me
they hunted for and I thought
they could smell like wolves
and find me but they didn't yet
they all came and climbed
back into the car towing the van and left
this time.

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