Skip to content

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.

The Interior Decorator


More from
Poem of the Week

Karen Leeder

Née Wachtel

translated from the German written by
Durs Grünbein
Aaron Coleman

The North Star

translated from the Spanish written by
Nicolás Guillén
Brian Henry

Lacquer

translated from the Slovenian written by
Tomaž Šalamun