From a Book of Caribbean Birds

by Aidan Andrew Dun

bond1

 

The name’s Toad
James Toad,
I believe in the gun
the open road.

Poop, poop
bang, bang
a licence to kill
sturm-und-drang.

Out of my way
country first,
one automatic
outburst

Eliminates
the other, stranger
I am the connoisseur
of danger

Where none exists;
I’m pure fiction
my life is psychological
projection.

I’m the anti-poetic
observer
no personality
a tarnished mirror

Blurred with fear
vodka-martini
I’m dipso-impotent!
White bikini?

Never seen one,
washerwomen, yes!
(In a tight corner
I’m trained to cross-dress.)

The name’s Toad
James Toad,
I believe in the gun
I’ve forgotten my code!

Zero something, what?
Can’t remember
exactly, born sometime
mid-November

The name’s Toad
James Toad
etc etc
etc etc

Advertisements