Saturday, 14 April 2018


Place all your trust in the garlic bulbs
of the kitchen drawer. They are spouted.

Sharp green paws of immortal beings.
They are reaching for the light like saints.

If you like, you may pin one clove to a tweed lapel
and enjoy protection against necromancy.

The dead may still come in the night
but they will be turned off. Like puritans

the dead know garlic makes a body hot.
The monks say it is an earthy pleasure.

It is up to you. You can forsake the bulb
& treat your gangrene with maggots this time.

You can chop it off. Who needs toes
when we have Lifetime TV specials?

But in Korea a bear became a woman
in 100 days of garlic and I prefer this myth

to the one about solitude. Bad breath
is a lie told by the ones with cold bodies.

I reach the hot cave of your mouth
& knock three times with small green paws.

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