A spider thread moves
slowly past my gaze
the world is wreathed
in silken drift.
Doves call three times
in morning praise
and Chanticleer
proclaims his watch.
Yesterday Eloise,
a proud four fingers,
danced upon an ant
a large tractor ant
with grasshopper legs
Forged in antiquity, a
space age design
and it retaliated and
seized her
skin in its mandibles.
A shriek, and sobs
in mother's arms, and I
located the ant
damaged but
operational, moving,
and I lifted it with a
leaf and placed
it in greenery. 'How
karmic' said Cara.
This morning
we found a column of
ants
close to where I had
placed the injured beastie.
They were marching into
the bedroom for munchies
so Denise instinctively
grabbed the Baygon.
Pressed the button.
Nuked the little
buggers.
Afterwards we mentioned
the ant invasion
to our local manager
who suggested drawing
a line at the
threshold, a sort of magical deterr-ant.
The manager, Made, gave
us a durian.
Do you know the durian?
It is a
heavy armour plated
thorny husk,
an ancient weapon,
which encases
the King of Fruits. It
effuses humus
or mouldy Camembert,
and some say -
so glibly I think -
sewage or a rank
damp trainer. You might
say the heaviest
aroma of sweet decaying
strawberry.
Yes, earthy, primal,
insistent
it evacuates lifts,
hotels, hospitals and wives.
The pods await
resplendent in regal
butter beds
and their flavour yes,
is almost
indescribable:
a hint of spring onion
and almond perhaps
the texture silky soft,
succulent,
richly creamily
custardly smooth;
the omnipotence
unassailable.
Our neighbour Jim from
San Fran - on the Bay
landed in hospital
today – Honey where you been?
You really must get out
more! – The dengue has him by the
melodramas – Babe,
this rash ain't no match for my glamorama!
