Minimalism Explained Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

this is your life without parades.
at least not the parades you were thinking of;
with only one kind of ice cream.

a firework or two. let's say. two:
of the two one kind of explodes

above the flower bed.
the other one fizzles,
half way dead

and for dessert you get:
half a cherry from the
black forest cake

they're carting away-
under its snowflake of powdered sugar.
or aspertame.

you deal out one card only
at the card games
on the green baize placemat

all the rage. fringed on one side.

it's a little difficult to play it
that way but
you survive.

you, with your one earmuff,
when winter arrives.

mary angela douglas 25 november 2015