Albertropolis

(Daquise, 1974)

The sun is out in rosy Albertropolis
so tables in their white tablecloths
slide onto amber pavements
under swishing trees and sparkling leaves.

Here we two sit,
Wendy Kellerman and me
tackling intricate Polish cakes,
Russian teas, frothy coffees

like continentals, sexy Parisians
talking poetry. At the next table
sunk deep in newspapers
a man is eavesdropping.

His eyes creep over the top
of his crossword, tiptoe back again,.
he pats himself down inwardly,
leans over, butts in, introduces himself :

A Famous English Poet.
This tactic must miss more times than hit
but today is his lucky day!
as here we are, two teenage literary romantics,

Wendy, statuesque and gothic
dressed as usual in a wedding dress,
the dirty virgin Bride of Usher ,
white transparent broderie anglaise

can barely bear the weight
of all her deep black hair,
and me, as her friend, I don't need to dress up,
she's good looking enough for the both of us.

As if we doubt him (we do)
he flourishes his chequebook,
shows us the printed name, and there it is,
You-Know-Who, The Big Bad Wolf.

We remain unmoved, let him
draw out the afternoon, top up our coffees,
teas, cakes; we try to uncover him
with trick questions of increasing tactlessness.

At six o clock we feel the fat warmth of evening
calling, how easily we move through it,
fleet footed on tubes and buses,
without caring, without planning.

We leave behind the Famous English Poet
or the bearer of his name, his table
a desolation of patisserie,
crumpled linen, broken tarts.

Tulsi Dances

One today, and Tulsi dances,

to a Bangra beat,

in Dad’s embrace bright-eyed

her hand held high.

Passing this precious parcel

arm to arm, disarmed

privileged friends, family,

briefly hold

a living miracle.

The music of their hearts

stops when they pass her on,

but share — the other’s heart

takes up the song.

Fruit-decorated cake

with blow-out candles.

Fingerfuls of sweetness

feed the faces of delighted family.

Balloons, and bubbles,

reflecting light and bright

satin colours,

orbs of momentary joy,

bursting, bang,

or soapy pop — a shock;

a weary Tulsi tear

of disappointment;

orbs of light she sees

can never fright.

Grandparents dote,

Mother glories, Dad is

justified in pride.

Their child of love

dispenses that

of which she’s made.

And we her devotees

enter her presence

and our god, goddess within

bows to the goddess

shining from her heart.