Torture Of The New (Memory Of Avignon 1958) Poem by Jean Bernard Parr

When young and sight-keen
we love the new,
the sheen on things
in the green arched
sparkling street, passing
the black garbed
old that sit stooped and bowed
we look out for anything
that glows like gold
on pavement café tables
silver satin swirls
the emerald drink
the little girl has got
eyes wide, aunt-fussed, spoilt,
she gives you
a knowing look that says
'you've got nothing
and I've got a lot.'

Meanwhile, in that
fecund world
of curating
unscratched things
that are not yours-
the slender bladed knife
from Spain that
belongs to a brother
in the creeping silence
with no one there
is when we start to dare

But lust starts to perish
at the first sight
of blemish, the hard won
prize tarnishes
excitement dims
and you return the find
to the drawer
with other things
far better to order
a museum in the mind
deep down you know
that worldy pile
will grow a whirl
of worry and
destruction in a while