Among a stone-wreathed, sun-fried declivity
On earth’s raised stomach, a shack. Common
With the nervousness of heat, such shack-up
Points bury their heads in shame forever...
School hours brought me to such beginnings,
Such introductions, transient and loosely
Translated into vulgar languages aired by
A hairless harum scarum – MY LANDLADY!
Her vowels, resonant with crudity, frayed the
Walls, reaching the cruel apex of wanton folly,
Embellished with tattered pollutions of crimson
Air. Her consonants, tongue in cheek, jeered at
Remote efforts applied to disarm a vector with
Borrowed proboscis. Paraphrased sex lined up
Lips that chewed with primed caution, when
Pressed to announce, through optimistic,
Sarcastic leverage:
‘YOUR RENT IS DUE! ’
But the moon always winked at me. All four
Phases richly painted, slowly sketched to crawl,
And not by any fast means, run. The seasons
Nudged me to remind me they were not yet run
Over by the wheels of time.
But she befriended the calendar, stiff with hard
Resolutions to turn over her pages. By a runnel’s
Course, she evoked the late principles of buried
Time, calculating the length of days, the width of
Nights and the circumference of her wilted
Patience. Hourglass was polished clean to reflect
The sun’s glare through holes pierced by decibels
Of eastern hymns, composed before the waking of
Larks, when like an underpaid courtesan, she would
Hammer her now contagious sign-slogan, but
Now robustly rephrased:
‘YOUR RENT IS OVERDUE! ’