Longing for Quacky: A Poem in Three Parts

Part One:

I sit at the café
I order a coffee
I stir the coffee
I stir it with pastimes
I stir it with an absent mind
I think about silver spoons to pass the time
Orson Welles who Lucy called Horse on Wheels;
Quacky was what I called you;
Every morning you called me;
These are some of the things we knew
That no one else did and no one else ever will know

Part Two:

He walks through the door
She comes through the door likewise
They knock it down with a whole circus
Either Welles or some Wheels roll on through
But I can’t be sure
Because they’re all standing behind
Your absence
Which is blocking up the whole doorframe like you wouldn’t believe
I wish you would get out of the way
Everything is about you
I wish you would get out of the way
But there isn’t much you can do about it in your absence

Part Three:

I can’t believe you don’t come any more
Believe you don’t I can’t come any more
More can’t I believe you don’t come any
And all of the permutations and all of the names and dropping of names and useless repetitions
From which I can make no witchy incarnations no material manifestations no connections
No I can’t make anything from these useless rhythms
But I can get tight I can write I can calculate the logarithm
And long and long and long
For the ultimate correction

Caitlyn Lesiuk (South Australia)

1 comment:

  1. This is brilliant.. Love the way you play with rhythm. I wanted to keep reading.


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