Forget me not
Have you no
shame, my lord,
to grope your
helpless maid servant,
and insert the
thought that
poetry is
hard?
It may be that
for you, the glories
in the morning
trumpets
way into the
afternoon when
your servants
return with
fish and fowl,
at which time
the cook
already
spreads the table
cloth, as your
stomach growls
like a boa
needing to
swallow a damsel whole
as the
celestial snake forks
its tongue
into
the crevices
of heaven,
there then
comes benediction –
a child is
born of your third
concubine.
Now the
mansion needs
enlarging,
needing a new western chamber.
Now the
swallows return
as the evening
descends,
closing, they
squawk,
“Forget me
not, forget me not…”
Koon Woon
