|May 2003 / Volume Four / Issue Two|
|Point of View
The blonde duck bill pegs
snip sodden clothes succinctly.
No arguing with these snappy types
they affix with tumour tenacity
blatant as last year’s bean crop.
are plugged into my mouth.
I am a power board tempting overload.
I am a round hole into which many pegs may be shoved.
New point of view.
Now I see
I wear an apron
a spinnaker restrained by a bow.
Close up. Tilt down.
My nape is dark
damp-shiny with perspiration.
Arteries and tendons snake up,
one ear curls
a sleeping cobra.
|Return to May 2003|