Is the Lady of Créteil Lake sick from gulping sewer waste or is she with Ol' Khayyam's seed heavy with...

The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Seven

The balding weeping willow by the Prefecture Gate’s railings
There where on drowsy summer’s day gather swan and goslings
To unfurl and let fan the crisp ensconced feathery quills
Litter and scum frothing in a creepy morass of leavings

Yarrow stalk mats faded leaves sticking to twigs and branches
Skewered tins dead fish collapsed beer cans plastic bags bottles
Shredded rags browned-off yesteryear’s papers broken toys turds
All fizzing curdling in unholy pot au feu stenches

There where her knee-cap juts round the firemen’s helicopter pad
Along the shin-wobbling cobbled promenade laid rough shod
Signs of her sick bowels cling to the nostrils and sticky soles
Or is she with baby taken her tummy heavy with pod

Had old Khayyam goosed her during abandoned sleep numbness
Caring less for her image than her breeding will confess
Or did she dream immaculate conception to walk the plank
Even before returning cranes cross over to Loch Ness

Alas! Deep in her longing quest the lone siluroid dreams
More than all the poetasters of Isphahan Khayyam convenes
The sun at four burns sickly upon her breast and collar bones
Woe to the Damsel in distress the Poet forsakens!

© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013