Saturday, February 4, 2012


“Elderberry Wine” © Mike Absalom January 8th
2012

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
telescope.
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
cyberspace,
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
wine.

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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