Poem 3

you wore shorts and played with toys and i was old enough to sleep with boys
she danced upon pomegranates and fed mangoes to the goldfish
he turned to cat fights and removed all the leaves from the pool
the constancy of inconstancy is as precise as a swiss clock
those past bright days of summer were shaping a needless will
under fire cracks and a star bursting sky spins the colourful merry-go-round
in a seaside house among the pine trees lay gigantic sponge balls
so big one could get into them and roll down the hill
the constancy of inconstancy is as precise as a swiss clock
an ox blood coach on the old rail tracks, cut short, drove nowhere
a discarded mil package soiled the rocky sand
magnetic glamour encompasses the naïveté of our childhood games
a hand stretched to reach an armour of lemons and prunes
the dates we’ve had, sadly salty, masked untold truths
a lacquered body displays its inner sorrows when we arrive so out of tune and time
and the constancy of inconstancy is as precise as a swiss clock