Sport 16: Autumn 1996
Nick Ascroft
Nick Ascroft
My Favourite
Years of Practising Preferring Her Vegetables To Dessert
My favourite reminds me of a man I knew
Called Albert
His skin was the kind of black
You could fall into
I saw him lift a house with one hand and
I believe if he trod too heavily
On the earth
Someone would die in Spain
My favourite differs
It is her social grace that can kill Spaniards
Her lungs that lift houses and
The blackness of her conversation that
I could fall into
I once slept with the entire population
Of Dunedin, obviously
I in my bed they in theirs but
The following morning
We all were gripped by a state of uneasiness
Of humming whistling and hedging
An awkward silence
Broken only by the loud smiling of my favourite
For unease is her fruit and sustenance
But
Don’t mistake me
As my favourite and I walk in opposite directions
I pray the world truly is round
That we may crack our skulls together once more
Delicately, Yet Bleeding in Her Passenger Seat
I gathered my favourite was either
A drop too much Mongoloid or
A Turkish articulatory delight but
There we were
Three thousand years ago
Slung across the same horse in Asia Minor or
Beneath the Urals
I forget now
I can’t remember what the argument was over but
When it was over I left the east and
Went west and north
I went south
Now reunited
We drive in opposite directions
But
Don’t mistake me
I pray that Galileo’s calculations were sound
That I may shatter my windscreen
Flip my ankles over my head and
My arse over my ankles
To shatter my favourite’s windscreen and
Land delicately, yet bleeding
In her passenger seat
The Theology of Never Finishing What You
They are sweet
Those that line the city
As though ready for the Almighty
To snort them like cocaine
Some read nine but
Most only got as far as
The seventh commandment and
Here, do not commit
Was enough
By day the staggering of the clouds and
The album of the heavens by night
Assert the importance of dreaming as
An end
And not a means
Not to stoke the fire but
The fire itself
By Saturday
The hell of our earth is only
Our feet stinging like cologne
But forget Sunday
Swing your feet over your skull and
Let everything run to your head
Remember,
The sourness of
Those above the city
Is the tartness of idolaters
Those succumbers
Praising the virtue of finishing
Let them think where
Finishing leads
page 23
To nothing
To that which is finished
Let them swallow while
Others
Chew
The Back of Me
Anyone interested in my good side
Will be glad to see the back of me
As I check the horizon and
Beneath
Try to stop my farewell parties
Being too gay
I will marry my shoes and
Honeymoon well away from
My well-wishers and couldn’t-make-its and
Especially those who for so long and
With such vigour
Have desired my honeymoon