Tuesday, 6 December 2011

If I Can't Go To The Mountain

Phone calls that go round in circles
conducted by automatons.
Remember the old days
when there was a face,
personality connected
with every profession?

I wish that something would happen.

The man in the pale blue shirt paces the room
with a phone clamped to his ear. The door’s open.
What’s he doing home at this time of the day?
Who’s he talking to?

Once there were people who worked for me
and responded to my every need.

A tall plant covered in yellow berries.
An old lady walks by.
She wears a blue body
warmer to go with the coat worn by
her little white dog.

She stops
to gather a handful of the poisonous fruit.

The door’s closed now.

If I can’t go to the mountain…

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