TROUT   [ 3 ]

Guy Fawkes   (XXX)
Never see the stars in this city. No witnesses, 
no liquid facings. Dont blame yourself, or me. 

The Stoneman prowls Calcutta's streets, 
Chowringhee, Howrah Bridge. 
Just another Crazy Charlie banging rocks 
on to heads like stamps of reproval, 
a sightseer's cruelty. 

I will penetrate this suburb to its source 
of deception, gargle the thick sulphur phlegm 
and rain down on heads
like empty cake tins. 

Creep into the linings, rusty spouting,
televisions glaring through frail curtains.
And pound the raging djinns,

till nothing remains 
but the circle of a rigid mouth. 

Neighbour's alsation has heard 
all she wants,
races in circles around her chainpost, wailing 
at the loud explosions and a sky 
fired up with insanity. 

This separation grows more dangerous,
the house a meaningless plot, 
with a blue forest blooming
under the sink, and red calendar crosses 
that terminate this date, 
and this, and this. 

Never see, in this city, the stars. 

    —Brian Flaherty 
    © 1997