Mama, please don’t hunt me down
I’ll be back by winter’s end
I’ll run kicking, hollering to places unknown
Like a butterfish who swims in only Coca Cola
Whirling down, with but another lady friend
Whose hubris is to you and I
Just a matter of minutes before she breaks
Into a million tiny fibres
But we’ll gather them one and all
And box them by the thousand
With a label-maker workers shout:
“Johnny I got six crates here and they’re ready to go out”
And if you’re lucky enough to get one this Christmas
Please do share it with your friends
Because time is ticking down
Is ticking faster, pack your bags
The careful man with the elevator shoes
Knows nothing of the sort
He’s blue-green, sea-bream
Ancient desperate hollow
And by tomorrow I’m afraid,
I’ll be completely homeless.
By James Prousk
