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

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