A Cage To Hold My Dreams
When You Leave My Bed
When you left Venice
San Marco Square was not awash
with wrecked gondolas
and angry boatmen slitted each
other's throats. The Doge's Palace,
I seem to remember
remained magnificently intact.
Edinburgh noted your departure
uncomplainingly.
The Castle rock withstood the shock
and Scott still clutched his scrolls
without batting a stone eye.
Paris did not descend into anarchy
on the morning you left
The Arc de Triomphe was not reduced
to rubble. Montmartre stank as
always, and the President
celebrated your departure by lighting
an especially fat cigar.
But when you leave my bed there is
chaos, flying debris, swollen rivers,
volcanic eruptions, nuclear
explosions, assassinations, train crashes,
huge waves, miltary coups,
famine, revolution, and the fearful stench
of rotting carcases.
