Are We In Love Yet?
by Patricia Walsh
Shunted upstairs, ahead of the crowd, pervading
acrostic solutions kill the softest neck,
yanked out of this dream world, notwithstanding
no occupation can save this paltry beast.
Reversing fortunes over a coldened coffee,
taking time to imbibe a wholesome diktat
more or less same to do with perfection
photographed at the right moment, to lunch.
Remaining on file, punishment still increased
the correct dose of photography simmers.
Stealing from another parent, excoriated still
not forgetting the lecture harmoniously good.
Not open during the show, standard procedure,
the loss of a blue glass sentimentalises the lightbulb
not worth repairing, a diamond set alight
strategic silver scares off the remaining obvious.
Being rich is key, the shabby clothing persists
washed on cue, invited to inclusive shorts
windows of failure or a forgotten land
missing rounds on embarrassing out of joint.
These tea lights do little to crush the darkness
paid for recognition, pregnant with spite
constructing apart a singular purpose
a manner taking notes a preferred option.