I shoot you at the pond
(Nathan Curnow)

Posted on August 2, 2010 by in Heightened Talk

for Kevin Brophy

ideas grow like goldfish

in proportion to the space they are given

you return home from your morning swim

still dripping from professor to friend, breakfast

begins slowly, questions are like muesli, managed

carefully at the kitchen table, believing in seeds

we commit to chewing, holding our spoons like pens

you consider me a poet and I emerge, still rough

after crashing in your spare room, studying the yard

your familiar themes—lemons, pigeons—the cats

pawing at the surface of your garden pond until

you spray them over the fence, a loaded water pistol

at the window sill—silence circles around again

tempted, I imagine you are partly feline, inquisitive

inscrutable, mischievous, your tail curling up like

a question mark, rising with the thrill of potential

so I shoot you at the pond because you ask me to

crouching like that at the edge, fishing for a symbol

as if to divulge this final ordeal of my training

or you are simply watching the goldfish swim

or I shoot you just for fun, we open our mouths

to a pool of silence, my friend, the idea


(Artwork: ‘White Horse’ by Miles Allinson)


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