Mermaid Wrestler
by Hadrian Boyle-Fawsitt
(1956-)
I still hear the ticking
of the clock high above
the only bare walls of white
light happy children
run and play
among the rubble of
spent dreams
scattered to four corner
winds blow
this way and that
tossing crisp dry
leaves that yes won't
look sadly back
accross divides that slow
separate me
and join all in out or as
tilt the table
turns pretty heads or
tails of in time
spent in power of ages
as if one ever
you wait in line so
drawn so straight
or gay abandon you
press the a flesh
in sweaty hands
christian and her son
draped in her arms
viewing a vatican
floor unexpecting
mermaid wrestler
collect their thoughts
on food stamps
the foot that has to rock
and role
another cigarette
another drink
another day another life
I still hear the ticking
