Saturday, February 4, 2012

“On the Drip” © Mike Absalom January 21st 2012.

I have noticed these days
that things are not here for long.
The accountancy of wind and
water scrapes away at everything,
grinding the sand into
rounding off the rocks to the
nearest ready month,
breaking up the years into
blocks that can be painted in black or red
like a lighthouse, and decimated for ready reckoning
and the tentative summations
of the innumerate.
Time is like a stalactite.
Everything is on the drip.

And ever since his salary was
(although I know it is the
last thing on your mind)
this once salty dog is no
longer worth his salt.
Like all celestial bodies his
is aging as it spins.
Soon he will be making love
to you in instalments
and wondering if he has enough reserves in the bank
to continue in the morning,
with the help of a nurse and
a saline transfusion.
He too is on the drip.

There is a ration-book for
and every item in it is in
the red
and will have to be paid for
I had thought the interest
would diminishes over time,
but that is not the case.
In times of rationing
interest increases exponentially
like a distress rocket trying
to outshine a lighthouse.

When you love someone
hire purchase is not really
an attractive option.

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