by Gabriella Garofalo
To Michael
The three of them, in original:
Mother, daughter, father,
Wanted dead or alive:
No need for blizzards, no need for floods
When fury and anger thrive like vines in rain forests –
The newlyweds sit by the fire,
They’re writing letters –
No dates, no wine, no flowers,
Only tears they can entice,
Tears, a fire that sets the soul ablaze
And a shady town where everyone
Stares in awe at posies, food, dosh,
Blabs trivia, drinks coffee
With twisted lips in a bogus smile,
Darn those sham players
Hustling and bustling
On a pastel stage set –
No names, right, please don’t jinx the play,
Too many times your words,
North, south, east, west, hounded her
‘No more shadows, the branches will dance,
All night long the wind will laugh last,’
But she knew Nature is a mean sniper,
And ‘Never’ was her reply –
So, my fire, please touch gently
The ravaged shrubs, the waning leaves,
While she’s breaking up
Among the vixens infesting time
Like mouldy moss all over stones –
So, my fire, please beware her eyes,
Beware young things riding bikes,
Smiling the hours away –
Good, my warning’s over, to bed now,
A candle, a snuffer, a fretful wait my only friends:
What if dark teams up with elusive scribblers,
Bed -ridden sisters or dead fathers?
Is it that harsh? Bad habits die hard,
You know, shame the town we schlep around
Stares at dark and dangers in sweetest nonchalance,
Shame the sky nods wisely, then hides beneath the clouds
Or the moon’s chitchat.
And now body, get out,
You lost bet for the soul,
You endless time for fat blondes
And snarling warriors:
Is it a smile, a blitz
Or simply a fire forcing itself?
See? All the tat and cheap flames
Already sorted out,
But water gets her goat,
Fresh air is a drag,
And she hates Nature wolfing down
Weak leaves or helpless shoots
No one cares to hide.
Mind, the elite flowers rest in their gilded cages,
The shops where they safely breathe
The scent of a deserted freedom.