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Saturday, May 14, 2011

Evening - prose poem

The things left undone look at the refrigerator door in the gathering dark. There the list is married to the door with an icon with hieroglyphs beneath. They know they are there, not struck out, not executed yet. Tomorrow, the next day. Some must wait for sunshine, some are best in rain. They move away resignedly and gather now in the warm glow of TV. Executioners are voluble as figures run across the screen, run up, run down: some fall, some fight, some jump, some cheer. TV cheers are echoed here as the glow grows brighter and the dark grows deeper. The dog dances on the carpet as the executioners laugh and hug before turning TV off and turning on the lights: passageway, kitchen, toilet. White powder with specks of blue are poured into the open machine beside the refrigerator. An executioner closes the door firmly. They turn away from one who was formerly left undone, turn away as he is electrocuted. The whirring machine sets them a-shiver on the refrigerator as a hand strikes one out. Done.

Andrew Burke


Anthony J Langford said...

Very interesting Andrew. I like the twists and turns, and plays on words.

Great work.

Andrew said...

Thanks, Anthony.