NaPM April 08, 2017

[Donald Q.]

Hydroponics
 
There are fingers twisting
on the rounded edges.
 
We didn't realise;
life's absent sorts,
peas in a pod,
we both forgot
to read the blurb.
 
Years ago
we were huffing glue
by the church hall,
but now we see the face-
up playing card.
A sleight of hand,
a smooth cut;
a flipped femur
turned to orbit.
 
Head-spinning too high
to see the deal, to hear
our names trumpeted;
we watched our Earth
rolling away like a marble,
same as any day, just
through a smaller porthole.
 
Whoever owns the digits
is no matter. We were folded
through space surrounded
by floating textbooks and
vacuumed seedlings. Us,
the royals of his second
garden! Roots weave
like wild brain patterns
and we swell full like
tomatoes, proud, flushed,
pure as the forged air.
 
We distribute fenugreek
leaflets by the fistful.
I run my baton along
the gas compressors, singing.
We made our luck turn good again.
 
Free from all habits,
thrown clean past Venus,
cut lose by kismet. We are
the palmed off pair, lungs
full of our own gust,
sailing on the brink, chasing.