Do we take poison?
We could of course,
like Buddhist priests on Earth,
set ourselves aflame.
But I don’t seem
to have any matches.
We have no weapons.
Even the knives are plastic.
And if I smothered you
with a pillow,
then who would smother me?
Yes, we could have
starved ourselves to death.
But it’s too late for that now.
They’ll be here any minute.
Drowning in the bath’s no good.
There’s only room for one.
I could stick my finger
in a socket
but that would blow
all the fuses.
I’d be fried
but you’d still be alive
and sweeping up my ashes.
Some say, let them come,
have them do their worst, just close your eyes
and think of Daptura
and the Gardens of Elysian.
They’re your family
from the planet Zrob.
I hear them on your doorstep now.
Ah Daptura,
save a glade
and a bed of leaves for me.
About the Author
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, North Dakota Quarterly and Lost Pilots. Latest books, ”Between Two Fires”, “Covert” and “Memory Outside The Head” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in California Quarterly, Seventh Quarry, La Presa and Doubly Mad.
