All entries for Sunday 11 April 2010
April 11, 2010
I read the story of a cult leader who used to address his followers while under the influence of laughing gas. I was preparing a best man speech at the time and it got me thinking. I wrote this poem sitting in this square:
I was the only tourist and, apart from my pale complexion, shorts and sandals (everyone else was wearing jeans and jumpers), I think I blended in well.
Of course, in an alternate universe things would be perfect
I gave the speech and,
despite your objections,
I used the nitrous oxide.
It wasn’t pretty but I think I made my point.
The groom’s mother looked at me with murderous intent;
it’s the same expression whenever we meet.
I can see she’s planning a few frames in advance;
looking at my throat like it’d be no trouble.
She’d have a fresh pair of marigolds in her handbag,
bought from a supermarket out of town, with cash.
She’d just have to rinse them under a tap,
run a bit of washing-up liquid over them.
No one would suspect a thing:
the gloves would go to the Shrewsbury
she’d put them in the Men’s lavs at St Peter’s
during one of their monthly meetings.
Nothing ever happened at St Peter’s, she’d think;
they couldn’t even shift Joan’s sponge there,
and the steward was the only man
who ever went near the place.
Her domestic automatons-of-a-certain-age
would encase me in pastry
and my flesh to raise enough money
for a whole school, with a teacher.
She thanked me for being best man;
her eyes narrowed and she applied foundation.
I said it was no trouble when
really I meant: ‘Make your move.’