Friday 20 January, 2012

The Night Comes with Noises

Tap dripping hard-water complaints:
endless one-note samba,
one-night-standing with a sink and a steel plate.

Scratch of plastic tissue-box leaning against the shelf
in constant conversation with
fight-or-flight lizard's tail:
Geck-o geck-o geck-o geck-o.

Orient fan in persistent battle with pusillanimous regulator:
Whirring victoriously to the end of time - 2012 -
when the meek shall inherit the earth.
Murder of the Orient's express.

Paperback Wendy Cope rubs her back
against 19th century poets.
Every last one of them.
You can't imagine what happened to e.e. cummings.
Bookend's loud metallic dissent.

Creaking rocking chair.
No breeze.
Just rocking next to a row
of Agatha Christies.

There is only one quiet time,
when the evening Azaan comes to its faltering off-key end,
a single crow cocks its head
and shuts its mouth for once.
The sun sets behind the neighbour's Syntex tank
without a fight,
and clearly like crystal black and white,
daylight peters out into the night.