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Eating Beans on Sunday

Carly-Jay Metcalfe
[c.j.metcalfe@uq.net.au]

Like a caterpillar I feed on green beans.
With string protruding from tooth,
I find and match what is the season today
was not unlike yesterday's taste.

So I chew vitamin rod with fresh haste,
and organic with my molars, pattern a paste.
With a twist of bean between hub of thumb and nub of index finger,
it is halved while I corkscrew and starve.

Loreena (Queen of the Middle Eastern set) chants from Morocco,
I re-assemble hypotheses on how and why and peck, peck like an Orca.
Cold-blooded zephyr envelopes Blonde body boat --
all milky, bare and breasty ; goosebumpy pulpy flesh.

Transfusion of vitamin D into hide of cream --
dye, dye coffee skin
like an occidental trait,
bleached epidermis baked in 37 degrees.
So Celsius.

Baked into tanned hide of bounty calibre;
peeling massacre.
Scorched pestles of a hide.
Raw hide.
Sore hide.
Claw and sigh. Sully a high.

I am sorcerer;
lover of Chaucer.
Necromancer, I dance of the table of the Lord. Who?
Buddha and Auden --
Master Messiah and Poetical Prince; 1994 puzzler (English blunder)

Garfield feeds on green fodder
while I sit with legs betwixt (pained pins)
while I sip apothecaries (Twinings) tea made by me.

Apocalyptic billows swim in and levitate like Houdini,
these puffs of ashen knurls so like be-ribboned schoolgirls.
Gossamer moulds with hot air --
they hold and fold when thunder rolls.

Mickey flitting through boughs of Gum,
Garfield now sniffs dirt and dreams of black and tan dogs,
of sniff and growl and play.
Pheasant bolts around vanilla blossom
seeking out new flavours,
avoiding bugs and naughty Terriers
chalking up free feeds.
Ducks launch north with wings of paper bones,
hornless Unicorns buoy by and by like tuskless tramps.
An ulcerated, umbrageous flash of fancy;
horny hallucinogenic.

Mosquitoes buzz up and out of the mangroves
to fling forward and sting, sting.
River ripples with lapping, looping rhythms
and balmy, calmy rest.

The tide is high.
So am I.
With wasps I lie
and with hornets I'll die.
Hear my channel, my rambling sigh.
Mine.




About the Author (click here) © 1997 Carly-Jay Metcalfe, all rights reserved
 appears here by permission



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