Subtle Sanity Suppression. Poem by Alistair Plint

peanuts and raisins sleep
in a crystal vase, resting
on granite ledged counters
quietly discussing
sides of what we call life.

I'd do ironing, if I had time,

listened to peanut-whispers instead
heard chatters of condolences;
the pardre has fluttered to
continue his work, in angel wings
surrounded by cumulus light

counted ten months since
he'd held pulpit memories
of his younger brother,
allowing my heart to cry
staring through the shards
my mother sat in

alongside my daughters
in their learning of life's truth.
hearing mumbled
"goodbye" I love you's.

raisins stop in the gossip
to answer the mobile...
their voices suffer differently
not broken by death
they're breaking, in the pubity
of the dead-living-dead.

"I am the resurection and light
said the lord
those who believe in me,
shall have eternal life."

...walked to the fridge;
opened my second Castle Lager
for a calendar year, one handful
of those peanuts and raisins
-washed in the crisp, cold, gulp
of the brewers-brown-bottle.





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