My poem about the hot day Susan and I
lunched by the river might be boring with just
us in it so I’ll add a man, a scholar I think
and give him an elbow to lean on while talking
to my other invention, the other scholar
who’ll be nutting out an ontological problem
and so gazing upwards glassily and of course
nestled up to me. But here’s the thing,
just for a laugh I’ll dress these scholars.
Yes, I’ll give them black serge jackets
although it’s like 30 degrees, grey flannel
trousers, thick shirts and cravats. Hey,
and a fez each, not to be pretentious
but they’ll look a little pretentious
and perhaps even be a little and Susan
will go to swim half-dressed in the river.
I’ll be a bit pissed at her for ditching me
and truth be told self-conscious at being left
the only normal one on the grass. In the
struggle to dress the men we’ve spilled
the picnic in the leaves so there’s no food.
Eventually I’ll realise that the first scholar
is not talking to the other scholar but to me
expounding on the nature of art. I will find
it boring and will be sorry I ever thought
to add these men to the lunch on the grass.
I will look away, I’ll look, reader, at you
hoping you’ll interpret my pleading expression,
take off your clothes and drop them one by one
on the grass as you come over
to rescue me.
Credit: The Sea Walks into a Wall by Anne Kennedy, Auckland University Press, RRP $24.99