DISTURBED

Here's a novelty:

with family outdoors,

I’ve house to myself.

No other agenda

than revising lists

of things-to-do;

surrounded

by the incomplete.

Slap-bang in mid-potter,

a wail from the garden -

“Come and see” -

breaks such reverie.

Its sun-warm stone lifted,

a limbless misnomer -

neither slow nor worm -

blinks and writhes,

shiny antidote

to my paper life.

Curious, anxious,

I reach out

for fragile grace.

It slips my rash grasp,

sheds tail in self-defence:

a lifeline left flexing,

reflexing down the path.

Part-death by design.

Hand-picked at second try,

the lizard slides

over palm, through fingers;

trails ichor

from its breaking point.

We note the subtle marks

of age and gender

on smooth skin.

Guarding stumpy survival,

I place our amputee

in a compost refuge,

chosen for its slugs.

A notched tongue

flicks defiance.

iii.2002