#36 - oi oi oi (three poems)

5.2.20

36

three poems

oi oi oi

and

where the hell are ya?

irony goes over our heads

or under our pants (on fire)

every time someone says

‘how good is that’

it’s game, set and match –

we’re all right

and nothing to see here

under the weight of opinion

without a second thought

I dreamt

imagined

bright new day

tomorrow belongs

all evidence evaporates

under the weight of opinion

cut through

bubble up

trouble to toil

religion washed

witches burn

under the weight of mirrors

in smoke

and grip of softly so

conviction melts

in godswill

a comfort

quietly then

this defiance

creep out

for a little think

the confession

after Martin Niemöller 

a big wind blew down the house next door

we’ll always remember that day

our deep sympathies and they’re gone

we stayed

the flood was some of the neighbours away

and clearly we were not intended

aren’t these all ‘natural’ disasters?

and we ourselves?

who’s to say?

fire knocked on the door but we weren’t at home

blocked our ears and shut our eyes

turned up the music loud

ropy tails and wings on fire

it was a barbeque

but they were only creatures too

you could smell the neighbours burning

nothing to be done

had to keep shovelling the coal in

condolences and sympathies

we really really care

moment we said that we saw

our pants were on fire

of course we argued with disaster

it couldn’t have been meant for us

there must have been a mistake

but the authorities… you know

by now, they weren’t listening

our names were ticked off

we had marching orders

left, right

we looked down, looked up

only then saw that sky falling all with fire

was something we’d cooked ourselves