9 April 2012

The good life: poem

A desiccated spider
the old man hunches
in a dusty crevice of the Zeus diner.

Insipid chocolate bars
de-inked by the years
forlornly nestle in a web of crazed glass.

Watch, you might see a stranger
brave with youthful curiosity
step inside, oblivious to the danger.

Who may marvel at ancient jars of sweets
then on hearing a rasping, angry voice
take fright, and scuttle a swift retreat.

Emerging from his hidden lair
the old man's bones creak
waves a cooked finger, stabbing at the air.

He is once again a lanky lad
earning in his parents shop
coins to buy a future, better than his Dads.

This is the good life, so he won’t whine
the hope-filled prosperous land
his family sailed to, long ago across a pleat in time.