John Garth Raubenheimer

(21/12/1947 / Johannesburg)

2001 A Psychotic Odyssey

A nurse. Set to explode. She had
them fooled.
But I'd seen her before,

android on my father's workshop floor.
I said, 'I'm watching you,
I know what you're for.'

We who'd dug our way to Earth,
all knew the score;
space-miners in a jewelled corridor
turning, sifting dim light,
epic tunnellers, and tappers,
bright star to bright star...

'Please be nice to Gwyneth.'
The white-coat's name was Grim.
I felt his injection going in.

After it,
aliens like allen keys stitched
us up, like dolls -
their notion of kind - they
up our parts.
Wrong arms, wrong legs,
wrong thoughts, wrong heads. Each
crammed in a capsule,
our private shell,
hurtling to nothing or hell.

'We were the country of
Shakespeare', one parallel puppet

But then, a new start. Neon slammed
up walls.
I shone in bright clothes...
Nurses flapped up walls.

Someone who might have been a friend
'You spent two nights at
the end of your bed.
I've never seen anyone sit
so still.
I've never seen anyone look so ill.'

Church friends. Our vicar paid a call.
Stood tall in his stolid
black shoes.

I could feel him suffering.
'Get up, ' spoke his need
as I kissed his solid, shiny shoes.

Submitted: Tuesday, June 10, 2014
Edited: Wednesday, June 11, 2014

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