Waste ground

by Laurie Smith

I was thinking what Rousseau would say
about traffic lights… ASTOOM!
a car onomatopoeia’d my bicycle
and the road slid into my face.

Awake, I had lost some teeth
and my sight was astoomatic.
I tottered on some waste ground
towards the distant light.

At the Westfield Astoomia
people were spending their credit’s credit
and taking back control.
I was going in when a tout breathed

My name is Mark, I’m your new best friend,
I can help your life in many ways;
and, by the way, it isn’t true
that Facebook is a stalker.

I made my excuses and left to where
banks and building societies raise
a question unheard in these days:
what shall we do to be saved?

They went to sea in a sieve, they did,
and Jesus walked the waves –
two possible ways.

Worms and trojans!
What hope for the nine bean-rows we planned?
We lack the anti-virus
and the anti-vari-virus
and

Go east, young person.
In a back-street bar in Tokyo
Boethius meets K’ung-fu-tzu
sumo-style:

The sea is the most solid ground,
most is achieved by yielding –
’STOOM!
To cultivate my own garden
and make my own green shade.

Me? I’m taking my holiday
at the Marabar Caves.
Datta Dayadhvam Damyata
Astoom Astoom Astoom