Evening — Poetry by Keith Nunes

Jasper and I are dumping religion
on Talulah’s bed
her dead serious Doc Maarten’s
like leathered punks in their seventies

he and I scratch around playfully
watching for signs of struggle
but he’s a bichon that doesn’t bite
and I’m a poetic Portuguese missing teeth

Talulah’s paintings claim the walls
left by giant spreading windows,
her presence is felt on tips of nerves,
she’s the ingredient that seals the dye

the retreating sun
tractors away in mournful layers
reminding Old Testament teachers
what they started is about to finish

Jasper falls asleep against my bent back
I silently plead with the ether
to keep the three of us safe as we’re
deliberately exposed to an overwhelming space

 

©Keith Nunes




Keith Nunes is from Lake Rotoma, New Zealand. He was a newspaper sub-editor for 20-plus years but after a nervous breakdown he moved into rural squalor and writes for the sheer joy of it. He’s been published around NZ and increasingly in the UK and US. He is a Pushcart Prize nominee and his chapbook Crashing the Calliope is sold only by the lunatic fringe.

Advertisements

What do you think about this piece?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s