ELIZABETH SMITHER
Two security guards talking about Jupiter
Four little canvas bags of takings, one float, one
cash box and two guards to open the security room
where the squat safe is waiting. End of day ritual
cash box and two guards to open the security room
where the squat safe is waiting. End of day ritual
but tonight they are talking of Jupiter
in men’s fashion. Did you see that
TV programme? About what the world
in men’s fashion. Did you see that
TV programme? About what the world
will be like when it dries out? A prune
sinking in on itself, a dust bowl falling
inwards like the orchestrated blowing up
sinking in on itself, a dust bowl falling
inwards like the orchestrated blowing up
of a building that comes down on the
spot ordained. Saturn, on the contrary,
is a crystal planet. How strange, fitting
spot ordained. Saturn, on the contrary,
is a crystal planet. How strange, fitting
the cash bags in, pushing the cashbox back
turning the handle so the teeth of the door mesh
and the maker’s gold seal glows in the light
turning the handle so the teeth of the door mesh
and the maker’s gold seal glows in the light
then finally the long thin key that someone
locked in the room might turn to open
to take out the bags and play with the money
locked in the room might turn to open
to take out the bags and play with the money
but be unable to escape because the door
is deadbolted. Walking away, thinking
how like a little safe this planet is
is deadbolted. Walking away, thinking
how like a little safe this planet is
locked tight, we trust, for the night
its systems meshed. Earth preserved in its
abundant waters, Jupiter in its dark moonlets.
its systems meshed. Earth preserved in its
abundant waters, Jupiter in its dark moonlets.
Buying a Bed
Together they flung themselves back
on the hillocky satin mattress
which barely yielded. Four feet
hung over the base, their heads
a foot from the headboard where pillows
would raise them. Eyes on the ceiling
first, then one another. What support,
they thought, in a bed bought by a mother
who is forcing a credit card on the salesman
and arranging delivery for this afternoon.
It’s recommended by the College of Chiropractors
the salesman was saying when the transaction
was complete and they were being bowed out –
the young lovers holding hands, the mother
on her way back to her hotel bed – vast
and cool and hard, an Arctic of tight sheets –
following as the giver of gifts must
down the aisle of beds – theirs the best
now there are no bodies lying across it
now their bodies have left no imprints.
on the hillocky satin mattress
which barely yielded. Four feet
hung over the base, their heads
a foot from the headboard where pillows
would raise them. Eyes on the ceiling
first, then one another. What support,
they thought, in a bed bought by a mother
who is forcing a credit card on the salesman
and arranging delivery for this afternoon.
It’s recommended by the College of Chiropractors
the salesman was saying when the transaction
was complete and they were being bowed out –
the young lovers holding hands, the mother
on her way back to her hotel bed – vast
and cool and hard, an Arctic of tight sheets –
following as the giver of gifts must
down the aisle of beds – theirs the best
now there are no bodies lying across it
now their bodies have left no imprints.
Ears
The ear of my grandson, lying on his side
asleep in a bed with a fake fur cover
so soft the ear, so tender, so thoughtfully
hearing the soft music from the radio
which is beginning an indoctrination.
Sleep to music, sleep to rain, sweet ear.
asleep in a bed with a fake fur cover
so soft the ear, so tender, so thoughtfully
hearing the soft music from the radio
which is beginning an indoctrination.
Sleep to music, sleep to rain, sweet ear.
My mother’s ear, when she died and after
laid out in the funeral parlour, so fine
so stiff, like a communion wafer
so starched, a worn sheet in the frost
could not compare to it, being too thick.
What sounds had flowed through it, sweet ear.
laid out in the funeral parlour, so fine
so stiff, like a communion wafer
so starched, a worn sheet in the frost
could not compare to it, being too thick.
What sounds had flowed through it, sweet ear.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Elizabeth Smither has just completed a new collection of poems, The year of adverbs, which will be published by Auckland University Press in 2007. Her latest publication is a novel, Different kinds of pleasure (Penguin, 2006).