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FIREWORKS
for Sandra Tappenden Is Hiram married to
Esmerelda? Everybody Has somebody, it seems. I
have A headache today. In my
knee. Yesterday I rewarded myself
with a sprawl On the movie sofa. Today:
suffer. Did Joe drive Conchita to
the movie? I say wonderfully clever
things about Future Imperfects, And why I want to fall in
love in Japan. Where does Janet fit in? I think I am not a gambler.
Horses know loads. I don't know what that
means. (I am worried. Do you love Barnaby? I am
beginning to live in a fictional world And may never get out.) The
next time You tell me all about your
domestic arrangements you will need To supply footnotes and
biographical details of everyone Involved. Yes, let's all go
in the garden And drink softly drinks.
Oh, it's raining, is it? That won't stop Josh
capturing Bethany's heart. I can hear fireworks, but I
can't see them. RETURNING
TO THE SCENE OF ONE'S BIRTH
1. There are lots of things I
want to keep from the people I'm playing with. Nurse,
bring me my surgery mask, please. I have nothing against
enjoyment, as such. Bird watching is one way.
Bird watching is two ways. Absorb the news. No, I have
no idea who writes it. All I know is to hide
before the big scary man comes Lurching along all dribbly.
Then, after they've told us The TV weather, along comes
a full and tiresome evening, As good a reason as any to
procreate recklessly. 2. All the people who like sex
a lot stand on one side of the yard And all the people who
don't care for it stand on the other side. A few people are scurrying
to and fro from side to side etcetera. I'm up on a teetering chair
trying to see out the window. 3. It's awfully quiet for
busy. I can remember as a kid Getting the wrong idea
about strip lighting as I sprawled In the bed and contemplated
the ceiling but it was an okay feeling. There goes a trolley but it
has no cakes on it. In trays we planted the
seeds of revolt but they didn't take root Ð It can be frustrating
waiting around for trees. I'm only in favour of
freedom Of information if one makes
allowances for secrecy. DEAR
SYLVIA
I am still and silent as a
stone at the side Of a storm-tossed sea. The
stone is, I think, To be exact, a pebble, but
even in my immobility I admire heavy-handed
alliteration for The solace it can bring to
one in need of solace And so, sweet Sylvia, I say
it is a stone. Have I told you lately that
snails are interesting? People forget it. What are you up to? It never occurred to me a
cloud Could be lonely. There is
usually two at least Of them but now I just
looked up in the sky And there is one, alone.
Time, meanwhile, is Dashing by and I have to
hang my underwear out While the sun is shining,
otherwise I will have problems
tomorrow, which is Tuesday. Lavender relaxed me today.
Ria looked Her usual alluring but
inside I was yawning. I noticed a sparrow this
morning pecking peanuts Hung on a tree in one of
those nut holder things. You hang them out wanting
blue tits and finches And you get sparrows. No
matter: Sparrows are like snails. People, forget it. Dear Pixie Face, I wish you
would send me a note. I don't know how much
longer I will be able To sit here pretending
everything is alright. In moments of quiet
desperation I have, I admit, Had recourse to narcotics
and back rubs. Then In the morning they haul me
back from the coast. Once I was put into a box
for my own good. It is okay to be Romantic, But not romantic. © Martin
Stannard 2005
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