There are those who smile as you walk into the room,
Patting the cushion beside them,
Asking you to come and sit like a sought after rock star or gem,
And knowing what they want, what they want ,
They wait for the wanted, grabbing it, grabbing it,
When they see it near.
(But why do they want, what they want,
If what they want is only because it is what you want,
And that they know is clear)?
It is never the cat that bites the hand,
Nor does the cactus jump out of its pot.
Jealously is the pillow that you lie on, strangling you whilst you dream,
(Images of visions, stroking the back of your eyes),
It is the dog who you’ve stoked for twenty-five years,
The friend you’ve spoken with at length about all your fears, all these years,
It is as if your left hand has ripped the fingers from off your right as you dosed in the day,
It is as if you eyelashes have mutinied and disbanded,
It is as if your toes have run like squealing piglets
All the way to another home.
And then like a flower whose petals drop silently onto the soil beneath,
A vulture lands pecking the plant to pieces,
Like tears they spray across the unweeded garden,
Roots spreading like leprosistic limbs,
Swollen and unnatural,
You wonder who forgot to prune.