Wes Montgomery
brings out the lounge lizard in me
it is late summer
overlooking Miami beach
thunderbirds crawl curbs
cruising palm lined palisades
we prefer Kent to Winston
all the colour footage lost
its integrity
over exposure they reckoned
just these few black & white negs
to recapture the smell of hope
we knew it could not last long
deep down in our heart of hearts
just glad this survived
post-traumatic stress
disorder after reading
eschatology
& occasional diamonds
waiting four years omnibusk
when he said to you
whomsoever you may be
feeling nothing much
staring into spaces
resembling going spare rooms
set aside for punishment &
broken suitcases
sand like time
slipped
through my fingers
tumbling
down chiffon
fifteen golden grains
resting on my
infant toes
Cricket and pills.
A Huguenot calls.
We talk balls.
Share our ills.
I do not wear lace since chiffon left.
Yet the memory of soap suds abides.
The medication commences just
after lunchtime on the second day.
Two down eight to go. Too high to control:
off the mark. breathe a sigh of brief relief.
Night is right.
Theodolites at dawn portend a repast
of frogs and lizards.
We shall heat them up before we eat them up
watching for triremes from the lighthouse penthouse.
Grimbeau 