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Milestones

1
Between the city and me
was only an ancient door
I'd painted orange.

Mounting treacherous steps,
Peter Olds brought sausages and plonk.
The wardrobe contained
a thousand and one empties.
In the fullness of time,
someone would smash the big mirror.

2
My father dies;
I'm diagnosed as having … never mind;
my longing for a leggy journalist
is slowly starved to death.

Yes, where I heal I'm bland.
A coffee bar provides
festivity enough, my daily fix.
I read the blackboard chalked in limes and pinks:
Obey you thirst—
Bacon and Eggs, $6.00—
Extract me the soldier from the sputnik.

My melting moment tastes of garlic.