Garth Rakumakoe

Lady Weather Makes No Promises

With the dead flakes and ashes

that fall from my dandruff and freckles

on a bad day

I feed the birds, and watch them fly away

 

Rolling on a hay mattress, like a book

I read the brail metropolis of cities

and the stretching lines of country sides

on my weary palms, from the vantage point

of my hemispheric window, with sheer disdain

heeding no anticipations and making no promises,

it’s a black coffee morning

It’s a lazy day

 

At my sneezing they bustle about

fussing over my mood of grey

and linen on the line

If only they knew how uninterested

and unmoved I am

by the farmer’s dismay

that I shed no tears today

 

Heaven knows, I’d much rather

make no promises and stay in;

light a cigarette, wallow in the poetry

of my unmade bed, and tell no lies

Having no appointments, today

I will paint my nails