Futures

Futures
Under the greenlit trees they swill their tea
Lettuce sandwiches under the willows
Taking my thoughts and making them pleasures
Where all is discomposed like a knocked over
Jug empties bluish milk, memory shivers

All over the goffered doilies the starched cakes
Iced over in luminous greens and odious yellows
Cherries that taste like mustard, jellies of zinc
Those little men with their markets and plans
Eating my hand prepared  memory-picnic.

Stealing the past to download a  future
I imagine their sourness , their greed
Serving it out to the boys
With their cheshire cat grins
And questionable values..

“Oh do have some more
It’s simply delightful!”
They are my words, my poisonous treats

These are my words, my only dominion
I serve them like  dinner
They are as real as a future
(I cannot imagine)
A mirage on a river.

 

Veronica Aldous art and poetry

Altered textile called Fibromyalgia – the eleven flowers are for the eleven pain paints that sufferers exhibit for diagnosis.

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