Posted by: David Harley | April 5, 2013

Twelfth Night

It was The Deadline.

First,the Christmas cards were filed
under Correspondence or Sentiment:
somehow their final disposal
seemed a job better suited
to Spring.

Then the balloons:

p * o * p
p * o * p
p * o * p

with a white ball-headed pin

some less with a bang
than a whimper.

At length,
sated with violence
I laid the rest to rest
on a shelf otherwise unused (pending varnishing),their disposal likewise deferred.

Finally, the tree.

Stripped of its baubles and tinsel
like a disgraced militiaman
it lurched over my shoulder

and I carried it down to the garden
to make its Last Stand

parodying life
shedding needles like green, spiky tears
through the kitchen
and all down the backstairs

wringing (ever so slightly)
my heart.

“Don’t cry, little tree,”
I pleaded (under my breath)
true to Nature
it simply
pined away…

Published in Vertical Images – New Leaves, 1989. Copyright David Harley, 1987.


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