For Margaret

As the clock ticks towards midnight,
I do not want to take on tomorrow;
for then, I have no choice but to say:
"Margaret died yesterday".
Already, I've lived one day without her.

Died, passed away, passed over, gave up the ghost;
I prefer the German verschwindet, disappeared.
Yesterday, Margaret disappeared,
and for my remaining tomorrows
I will play hide and seek with her,
till the tomorrow when I disappear,
and you'll be the ones searching.

Maybe

Today the wind harp was singing;
at times a chord, at others a ripple
and great long silences.
My inner self resonates
in very much the same way.
Yes: and I feel connected;
No: a black fog swirls around me;
Maybe: an endless waiting.
But the harp is governed
by the wind, which, as we are told,
“Like the Spirit, bloweth where is listeth.”

And I don't even like Wagner

The Flying Dutchman, at least,
had the hope of a reprieve;
every seven years
he could come ashore
and search for the one true love
who would redeem him.
It's hard to imagine
his desolation at the start of
each seven year stint.

My illness will have a reprieve;a death.
Only I do not know when or where.
Already, it's as if I've spent a lifetime
sailing the open seas,
rounding, again and again,
the Cape of Good Hope.

Waste

Today I bought a hedgehog

for one hundred and twenty dollars;

I don't usually dabble

on the hedgehog market

so I do not know the going price.

I think I've been ripped off.

The hedgehog, without compunction,

had slipped into my drain;

$120 is the call-out price

for a drain-layer.

It wasn't Beatrix Potter;

The hedgehog was in so sorry a state

I couldn't display it as a trophy

on my mantlepiece.

I feel I've been done in the eye.

How much would you pay for a hedgehog?


P.S. The hedgehog in the photo is not Diana's hedgehog. 
Original photo: Creative Commons licence, by Justin and Elise