Poetry


 Batman at the Palace 
The Queen’s not in her chamber, her ladies wait elsewhere

Her stately pile lies like a giant’s bones
But outside, on the world side, something definitely odd
Is clinging to the stones.

It could be just a giggle, a merry student prank
Watch out for chamber pots and college scarf
But underneath the costume it’s soon easy to work out
He’s not here for a laugh.

There’s tragedy enfolded beneath those plastic wings
His little batlings taken from their nest
And kept within a distant cave his radar can’t locate
At their batmum’s behest.

Not all Batmen are batty, and Batmums can play the bitch
And twist the knife and salt the wounds with spite
While baby bats are staked out as the spoils of victory
For which they fight.

But I can see no signs of love in Batman’s body talk
Only a male affronted, pride bereft,
Locked tight into a wounded place, emotions set ablaze
And only anger left.

He shouts, he struts, he waxes hot, for justice he demands
Through his Batmask there glow two eyes from hell
With muscles clenched, with arm held high, with breast stuck out in rage
A maddened pipistrelle.

By now he knows he’s blown it, so eager to possess
My kids, My wife, My car, the place I hide.
His family is contracting, holding tight among themselves
To leave the man outside,

With time but not the wisdom to reflect on what he’s done
Where paths diverged, what were the clues he missed
How wives and children need to be embraced with open hands
Not strangled in a fist.

He shakes his head to clear it of the tricks that women play
Waves placards to the cameras, his agenda
His life, his world, his trust, in bitterness confined
To Robin and his gender

The Joker, in policeman’s clothes, waits patiently below
The ladder noses in towards the clown
To take his Disney colours to a darkened place, to brood
In a corner, upside-down.

 In Deep 

 They danced among the weeds, adventurously touching

Then flicking sensuously away, up to the gills

With joyful lust. But the scales fell from her eyes

Flirtatious bubbles rising out of sight, sediment falling slowly to the floor

He twists and turns more wildly, desperate to make a splash

But suddenly her blood is cold. From joy, distress.

He closes in one more time, his mouth in a hopeful O, one last salute

To his koi mistress.

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