The parcel was poetry itself.
Didn’t want to open it.
Wasn’t time.
Yet.
But after a bit of prodding, okay.
With bookstore scalpel in hand
I made the delicate incision
and extracted
ten books of poetry
from Kel in Lithuania.
I met Kel as many years ago
in Glasgow
in a school of ministry
his friend Peter, too, as I recall.
Verses for the King
the first is dedicated Peter…
Ash trays and beer mugs
fire trap, smoke filled basement
jazz piano and double bass
Hot humid summer night
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Sydney Opera house and bridge
Hernandez late night coffee
Ethiopian Vienna
amongst taxi drivers and pimps
Driving in your Corolla
leafy Eastern Suburbs
chewing the breeze
Governors, Dunners
reminiscing, looking forward
relaxing, enjoying
Peter, this is how I remember you
your stupid dinosaur
and corny smile
God, I have a question
they tell me he will die, today or tomorrow
stupid, spiteful, stinkin’ leukaemia
I know the times
the eschatological tension
the kingdom now but not yet
I know you have given
I know you take away
your name will be praised
But I still have a question
a little question
a big question
Selfishly, God,
he is my friend
and this really hurts
God,
the question I have
is simply
Why?
Why God?
Why? Why? Why?
