Saturday, February 4, 2012

“Elderberry Wine” © Mike Absalom January 8th

Women want a life out of me,
said Schwantz,
but all I have to spare is a
couple of afternoons.

He drained his glass and looked
into it as fiercely as a condemned philosopher having second thoughts.
I thought the glass was now a
Wary of missing out I looked
into mine, but there was nothing new there.
Only a copla thoughts
repeated so often they looked like tattoos.

Oh! I mused, here I am on the Black Bog and you orbiting beyont in
throughout the planes of all possibility, in the thick fruit-ridden gardens
of earthly delight,
masked and as got up as the unknown woman I will never meet at the Carnival
of Venice.

It is true! said Schwantz, sipping the life out
of his empty glass.
Give me a woman with soft hands and a spare
afternoon now and then,
I will not bother her with moanings and bills,
or even ask her to oil the rusty meccano of my
youthful indiscretion.
I will arrive like the elderflower as gentle as a
scent on the breeze
and leave heavy as the ripe elderberry, smelling
of toddycat and the musky bouquet of country

The women of our generation are all into New
Age, I said,
but sadly all that is available is Old Age.

A dream catcher, said Schwantz, is no substitute
for liposuction.
Pour me another glass of elderberry wine.

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