Afterwards Poem by gershon hepner

Afterwards is not what love’s about,
there’s no lead where future can be cast
with promises that hopeful people shout
aloud, affirming love will surely last.

Of itself love must take care, without
the guarantees whose truth no one can tell;
do not despair of it despite your doubt
that afterwards it won’t retain its spell.

Inspired by a poem by the new British poet laureate, Carol Ann Duffy:

Stuffed

I put two yellow peepers in an owl.
Wow. I fix the grin of Crocodile.
Spiv. I sew the slither of an eel.
I jerk, kick-start, the back hooves of a mule.
Wild. I hold the red rag to a bull.
Mad. I spread the feathers of a gull.

I screw a tight snarl to a weasel.
Fierce. I stitch the flippers on a seal.
Splayed. I pierce the heartbeat of a quail.

I like her to be naked and to kneel.
Tame. My motionless, my living doll.
Mute. And afterwards I like her not to tell.


5/1/09