Lucy´s petit dejeuner
by Craig MacPhail

the trees sing with the colour of fish
while the birds mow the purple grass
the day is almost done
but Doris persists in weaving the stars into sandwiches
sunny days
leave the asphalt wet with yellow
while Saturn swings in its basket on a branch
.
Are we to live in total honesty,
or will this picnic become a comedy of manners?
naked in the hail of mustard
we strive to bring the reign of the wicked hot dogs to an end
the relish in damp puddles collect
green fish scales lie waiting to be raked
like the lies that the planets cannot help but emit
.
Peace will be found at the turning point,
when laughter is worn like the clothes of old men
we'll shake our fists at the clouds of snow
and tramp happily to the orange ponds
we won't be caught short at the last crescendo
but stand fast to meet the lizard of dignity
whose marshmallow will be our great reward

Written August 18, 2001, 2:52 am
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