Poem of the Week

I practise the outworn Victorian art

Of hooking wool roses to cover

The piano legs; limbs rather; but under

These ornate surfaces, the hard

Naked wood is still there.

I am industrious and clever

With my hands: I execute in paint

Landscapes on doorpanels and screens.

Down my arranged vistas, furniture

And pillows flourish in plump scenery

And on my table stands a miniature

Lemon tree in a small china garden.

It is prudent to thus restrain one’s eden

Indoors. I never eat my bitter lemons

And everything remains in its own spot

Except the devil, who is under the piano

With a fringed purple tablecloth over

Him. I hear him sucking lemon rinds.

I cannot make him blend with my decor

Even with roses: his tail sticks out behind.