Blue China

Are you feeling better?

A sorrowful dinner table

A blue china vase

The hair that strokes the ridge of your shoulder

Somewhere downstairs is a maid

A cigarette butt at her heel

Curls brushed from superstitions

Innocent eyes wide at tales of fictional days

Knives crossed over Forks

Plates stacked indifferently

Fresh air meeting the window open

How can the walls be angry?

Their blank faces show nothing of description

Yet they bear down upon us like dark generals

Blue stripes running down your shirt

The cuff releases your hand

Your mouth releases your tongue momentarily

And it wets your lips

Wooden cabinets with glass panes

Palms and ferns potted

Reaching for the cigarette smoke

A muffled song marching up the stairs

Heavy seasonal change affecting the fireplace

Chinese teapot with English steam

Privilege is a partridge sitting on a steeple

Shot carelessly by a drunk with inherited gun

Smashing windows with rocks

To gain entry into history

To force his name be written in the index

And be learnt by the generations to come

There is a maid smoking a cigarette

Stirring a soup that will not be appreciated

There are two men at a table talking of Genet

While the Partridge on the steeple is shot

Again and Again