Sometimes I say Iím fine
when you ask what is wrong
Mostly Iím thinking of wasps
and poisonous snakes.
I wish for the sound of a train
rumbling on its tracks,
the whistle when it leaves.
I put on my boots and walk in the rain.
Winds whip the water backwards to the sky.
Two black kites give up on their lovemaking.
I wish they too would be taken by the wind.
Itís evening when I get back home,
the lights are out, the fire unlit.
Silence creeps in from underneath the floor boards,
the sound of incy wincy
spider from the neighboursí TV.
Streetlamps throw a dull sparkle on the screen.
On the porch table the photo album
lies open at the pictures of the Wailing Wall.
You sit slumped in your chair, your pipe cold.
I ask whatís wrong
, you say.