Nasty Conjugation

Addressed to my esteemed
Colleague in Papua, New Guinea,
The ambassador from America,
With apologies for the lateness
Of my reply.
(To be delivered with
haste and urgent discretion).

Nuclear winter in London –
Dreadfully dull.
Gregor has outfitted the motorcycle
With snow chains,
Shrapnel guards, and
An upholstered sidecar
In anticipation of your arrival.

A fortnight hence I shall cross
The war-torn countryside.
Huddled under a broken sky,
I will pay no heed to the
Outrageous mutant gangs,
Knowing a kiss from your generous
Rosebud lips awaits.

You will know my calling card
By the gold filigree hedgehog rampant
Across a field azure,
And the insignia which reads:
Abbs Noli irritare ericius.
I shall wear the fine top hat you sent,
As per the agreement.

I met Burt Reynolds today
after what seemed like a shallow eternity of waiting.
When he touched me it was electric,
like all of his immense energy concentrated
into his fingertips and discharged on the surface of my skin.
I wanted to sing, but he wanted to dance, so
I held his moustache while he twirled around the room.
My song seemed to echo forever:
O glorious, glorious.

His powers of Feng Shui
are the stuff of legend.
It was he who first spoke up
about that upholstery
in my heart; so tacky
and hideous in green shag.

And oh, the wonders he worked
in my duodenum:
some throw pillows in the corner,
an overstuffed chair, and
on the coffee table a
tasteful floral arrangement.

He lives in my pancreas,
my interior decorator.
The tiny, baby blue scarf
around his neck compliments
his grey penny loafers,
brightens his pinprick blue eyes.

Everything precious and secret is speaking
in sidewalks, in motion, syncopated
language lacking context or meaning,
and he is a verb.

She taught the ocean to sing sweetly to the stone.
In the bulletproof vaults of the new embassy,
Panamá se ahogado mi corazón.

Cowering under razor wire, the no-fly zone
Cries for her comfort. It drinks her voice gratefully.
She taught the ocean to sing sweetly to the stone.

Without her soft influence I couldn’t have known
The longing of the tide or the shore’s whispered plea.
Panamá se ahogado mi corazón.

Washed by moonlight, my mansion gleams like polished bone;
The wind that scours its blast-walls brings her voice to me.
She taught the ocean to sing sweetly to the stone.

Ocean’s hands have swept her home. Suddenly alone,
The jungles become violent and rage silently.
Panamá se ahogado mi corazón.

The land has grown feral, tangled and overgrown,
So I depart to wed the daughter of the sea.
She taught the ocean to sing sweetly to the stone.
Panamá se ahogado mi corazón.