Viewport width =
March 5, 2018 | by  | in Arts Poetry |
Share on FacebookShare on Google+Pin on PinterestTweet about this on Twitter

Lion’s Teeth

Nobody has ever said

I would like to grow up

to one day be a bureaucrat.

 

Or a sinecure; listless

at a desk in the afternoon

staring at immigrant landscapers

 

from an office window

like they are flowers

in a garden, wet with sweat

 

from guarding the marigolds

against imperialist insects,

moving across the tableau,

 

the manicured lawns of America

like checkers on a board

only ever vaguely aware

 

there’s a sycophant who sits

and watches them pull at weeds

while he himself feels stuck

 

like a staple in a stack

of papers—sifting through time

sheets and blank accounts

 

receivables, waiting for someone

to come and pluck him out

of his hole like a dandelion

 

and help him remember when,

wiping his brow against the sun

and waiting on a gust of wind

 

he would hold the stem,

and watch each seed

blowing slowly away

 

one by one,

until he was left

with nothing.

Share on FacebookShare on Google+Pin on PinterestTweet about this on Twitter

About the Author ()

Comments are closed.

Recent posts

  1. VUW Halls Hiking Fees By 50–80% Next Year
  2. The Stats on Gender Disparities at VUW
  3. Issue 25 – Legacy
  4. Canta Wins Bid for Editorial Independence
  5. RA Speaks Out About Victoria University Hall Death
  6. VUW Hall Death: What We Know So Far
  7. FANTA WITH NO ICE
  8. New Normal
  9. Come In, The Door’s Open.
  10. Love in the Time of Face Tattoos

Editor's Pick

Uncomfortable places: skin.

:   Where are you from?  My list was always ready: England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, puppy dogs’ tails, a little Spanish, maybe German, and—almost as an afterthought—half Samoan. An unwanted fraction.   But you don’t seem like a Samoan. I thought you were [inser

Do you know how to read? Sign up to our Newsletter!

* indicates required