I wonder exactly where
we’re heading,
if it’s safe to cross,
but everything feels skewed
and the perspective can’t be judged,
I need a straight answer
from the Many-Eyed God
of Provisional Road Safety,
but he prefers to keep me guessing,
saying with a glinty laugh,
don’t be so pedestrian,
you’re missing a golden opportunity
to jay walk — take it!
And perhaps I’ll come a cropper,
but it’s all par for the course,
because we no longer abide
by other people’s rules,
we are free to breathe in the fumes
of history on impulse,
while dodging oncoming traffic,
after all, our forebears
were perfectly happy
to be dug in surrounded
by spiked helmets
and explosive special effects,
that didn’t stop them
from bringing home the piping-hot
pyrrhic glory in time for tea.
This period of mild transition
means we can relive
a past that never existed,
when the only crimes were cosy ones
committed by Agatha Christie,
and everything was
in lovely black and white.
Don’t wait for the green light,
he says, red is standing to attention
singing ‘Nearer my God to Thee’,
so when you do step out,
you don’t even need to look
where you’re going,
everything is clearly marked,
just follow the clown hats in orange.
They say our progress
will be turbo-charged to perfection,
employing only the best
slummers and hawkers
in the highest echelons,
building fantasy bridges
just for us — because we aren’t
the type to labour
over details.
We may seem like mice
squabbling over a crumb
on the deserted night platform,
but a richer future
awaits us — just think of
an admiral butterfly
with patriotic wings,
perhaps easy prey for predators,
but let’s be confident
of making good headway,
whatever the wildlife.
So put your best foot forward,
and if you do fall under a bus,
or become a casualty
of some white van drama,
remember those superior powers
vested in me— by all that dark
money — and please don’t worry,
should these lights ever
go on the blink,
be secure in the knowledge
that you can always rely
on a back-dated cheque
sent with love,
from Mustique.
**
(slightly revised version of poem originally published last month in ‘No Crime in Rhymin’ on Medium.com)
lise colas 