Sometimes a disaster blows out of itself and
Becomes an enchantment.
The prince turns into a frog
And the princess gets a backache on a pea.
I mash the green peas down.
Pea juice.
Hmm, it is healthy and ripe.
I'd like to lie down next to the princess until
Then I'll sneak out of her bed and lie on a grape leaf.
I will be dolman.
I will be a Greek dish.
No, I hate the Greeks.
My wife once went out with one and turned
My horse into a wooden Trojan disaster.
I tried to kill myself by becoming a professional boxer.
I damaged my brain but couldn't get rid of the pain
Of betrayal and trust's broken foot which I borrowed
From a rabbit's lack of luck.
The shake of the hand is unattached to the person
Who ambles a gesture out in the air
Like a bluster.
Does this make us friends
Or lobster claws?
Am I holding you with pegs in my hands
Or with open affection like lasts night's amplitude?
I keep coming back to you like a home when
You travel like the neighbor's tent.
I have fallen on your introduction
And stuck to the continuity of surprise greetings.
Even though you are a woman
We should shake hands as if it were man to man
With the firm attachment of ceremonial greetings.

Where you lack luster you forefront drab stealth
As your left foot ambles its stubbed toes before your right.
You have disappeared into your reticence
Like a banana into its peel.
You can't walk on hallucinations
Because they are as unreal
As heaven.
Moslems want seventy-two virgins in paradise.
The virgins think their men should shave or at least bathe.
They live in fear, squawking in a pen.
Have you ever slept with a clumsy virgin?
If you can't get intercourse straight and distinguish
Experience from ineptitude,
Then you don't deserve to govern a theocratic mistake or
A militaristic caliphate.
You hit me in the head and, you know, it feels good.
Well, we are boxing so what would you expect?
Not that we can predict.
But it always does seem to end with a fist.
Sometimes I close down like your hand.
Others I open up like your smile darting around
Amongst its attempted radiances
In a 'Rue de Paris.'
I have been there before.
I will enter again the haunted houses of pretty
Friendship before the ghosts pop out
Of the ceilings.
You are taking me for a ride.
But I am the first car in the train that passes
The witches and ghosts in the glass cases
And the children yelling,
'Whee, whee' as fun transposes into the miracle
Of the adventure of taking silly chances.
      David Lawrence 2010