Wednesday, 30 April 2008

a poem

Digesting Mr Biscotti by Robyn Hitchcock

Peace comes hard to the abandoned hotel.

By the lake that harbours telepathic trout
Hither and thither dart the thoughts of God
Signora Biscotti scrapes the offal of her husband Dino
Into the limpid waters flat
It's swallowed
First by the surface
And then by the fish. The peel of his guts
The rind, is funnelled through their yo-yo mouths into their fishy tubes.
They flick away.

Next evening, two are hooked and cooked.
With lemon, pepper and sauté potatoes
Signora Biscotti and a friend, still jittery, devour the fishes flanks
Leaving the heads to star through floured eyes,
And the spines to pump dead messages past the peas,
Hard to see in the candlelight.

"Dino loved peas"

Their interlocking fingers, lit by guttering light,
like parchment spiders, rest and pulse before commencing the duel of love,
Beside the lake of stars, of unmovingness;
As Signor Biscotti - Dino - passes through them,
Peace comes slow to the abandoned hotel.

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