Poem 68

Another from my homemade Smalls collection … photocopied at the Miramar library with a curious boy reading aloud over my shoulder …

… this is from the point of view of someone in an institution whose problems pursue them in the shape of well-meaning (or not) visits from their family … they obviously had the same sorts of experiences with swans that I did as a kid …

Visiting Day

All the bruises are in here
the handled fruit
faces pressed up against the difficulty
of talking the strain
of being talked to

happy if the chairs stayed empty
if your problems didn't throw themselves down
talking talking talking
beating into your face
like a flock of swans
who won't believe you haven't got more bread
in your brown paper bag

a tight red eye
on the lookout for crumbs
neck raised in a hoop
a sweaty ball of paper
in a hand

down at the lake again