Pique Poem by Pam Brown

no one
on the corner
here

silent,
not spiritual,
the city is empty

antispectacular
& as
deodorised
as heaven

no sleeping boys
no density
no belching
pissing bodies
no spitting
in the street

utilitarian –
make one step
another step
follows

the pace set
by the tedium
of the blessed

*

demolishing
half the house
to make room
for the truck

bashing the bricks
with
a blunt tang

aiming
the air rifle
anywhere

blasting doves
from
telegraph poles

shouting & strutting
down
BBQ lane

setting fire
to lakes

*

once
in a while
the coprophiliac
makes a deposit
in the library

where,
absorbed
in poetic gesture,
arrivistes paraphrase
biography –


& animate
early C20
heroes & heroines

maybe
that way
something
rubs off

as when
quotation
embarrasses
the text

& here am I,
nibbling
my jejune nourishment
with the laxity
of a cultivated
& singular minority

languidly
erasing
all legend

flick flick flick

*