CHILD OF FAMINE

Rock of a waste land,

her shoulder carrying you,

but you have taken yourself to her

and though she is as a wasteland

and dying, as you are too,

she must carry you bountifully

into orchards

into places of lovely things

which were yours and hers in the beginning.

Small child

at the sight of you dying

you are my child

and your arms weak

as rotten ropes

are hanging round my neck.

BUT LEAN OVER AND TOUCH

touch the passion and precision of a picture created

by a man who must paint with a brush in his mouth

and out of thankfulness, not pity,

you may want to cry

touch the mind of an old man who

with nearly his quota of life used up

is still a visionary

touch the threat of one who could take you to madness

touch the personal logic of a small child

touch discipline in the loving of one

who does not mention exclusive rights

and lean over and let others touch you

SPANISH BARMAN

The barman smiles

in the afternoon

but shakes his head

when I show him my pass

for free tea and biscuits

so I conjure up treasure –

small photos, a key ring,

pretty stone from the beach

while he looks and smiles,

then sets up the tea tray.

This game he plays

in the afternoon

could be part of his job

(he plays it so well)

and I fancy him rotten.

Copyright @ Cherry Butler