Fabulous. Your amazement sticks in my mind.
But I should have guessed
your disproportionate delight
might be the start of a decline.
You were beaming as you held the vase
which I didn’t know you’d kept,
just like those years before
when I’d hurried back from school
with it, my cherished gift to you.
This time, with both hands,
you place it on the sill too carefully.
Somebody’s rule of inversion;
appreciation is proportional
to what is left.
Crookedly the vase leans in all its orange splendour.
I see you shake your head in disbelief
repeating Fabulous with wonder.
This poem first appeared in Prole Issue 14.
The edit plus strings
perform a strobe upon
You think the scene
showed nude Janet Leigh
slashed a dozen times;
slow it down and look again
it’s Hitch deceiving us.
Scorsese pulls a different trick in
‘Raging Bull’; Mascagni
finds beauty in violence,
La Motta smacks out seven shades
of slow –mo black
while we watch wrapped
in the fling and flail of blood.
In the dark of cinemas
I try to find a soundtrack of my own.
Play the tapes again
with the sound turned down.
This poem appears in The Interpreter’s House #57.