the neatest bird of a lady, fishes
desire and chips from a Bain-Marie
to a Northland scrubby table. Safe in the
hold, she tucks one lifeless napkin
onto her hunched blouse and polishes
time slowly with another
as if honoring the chef with her attentions.
it shrinks the chaos back from one chair
passes by the pankration of prams.
This poem harks back a bit to Month of Poetry; as I asked Twitter for a line to play around with (because thinking up stuff on your own is for suckers).
@scooter_lass replied with " 'the desire to hold onto time as it passes' via The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows - anchorage." Which for some reason reminded me of a tiny old lady I saw eating the biggest plate of fish and chips I'd ever seen at Northland one lunchtime, behaving as if she was at a top restaurant rather than surrounded by all the horrors of a shopping centre food court on a Saturday. I took the suggested line and made it one the first word of the start of each line.
No comments:
Post a Comment