“Bridget” © Mike Absalom January 5th 2012

Out of the gravid road
butterflies erupt
like small rainbows whose
water has burst.
Four eyed but with only two
of them firmly attached
a peacock winks at me archly,
beginning to signal
cryptically in red semaphore to the admiral.

From the bridge, colour drunk
and with torn and jagged
edges,
Saint Bridget,
once famous for the fecund
production of her infinite womb,
staggers forth, pixilated to
the gills on cyber zone overdose
and shouting without
encryption on an open line reveals
all her arcane secrets
as brazenly as a streaker at
a First Communion.

You have to kiss a lizard!

That is as it may be.

But where in earth will I
find a lizard to kiss
on Facebook at this time of the
afternoon?