It's Still Life

A Dream Again

Like a feather, or the grey shade
of a tree. I’m falling into myself,
dropped and tossed into a dream.

And I’m telling my sister that
life’s all or nothing.

And she’s quoting scripture at me,
as if she’s a chip off an angel, saying
Jesus fed them bread and fishes.

And I’m thinking is the plural of fish, fishes?
One fish. Two fish. No, it’s fish.

And so I say, You can’t walk into
McDonald’s and buy half a burger.
It’s either all of a burger or nothing.

And we’re standing in a courtyard,
South American cliché, with mist
rolling off roofs, and morning sunlight.
Climbing Thunbergia vines on the trees,

blossoms vibrant orange with black-
out centres. It’s more orange than
orange. Like Trump. Voodoo orange.

Gnats are filling the air and humming
a tune I can’t quite name. A tune one
might expect as Poe’s funeral, the
mourners swaying. Drunk, most likely.

And my sister says, I’m vegetarian,
so I’d never walk into McDonald’s,
and besides their toilets are filthy.

And I’m thinking, it’s just like an angel
to complain about everyday shit.

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Inspired by Ingrid’s recent dreams prompt at dVerse Poets, and written for Linda’s JusJoJan 19 January “complain”. AI Digital Art is mine and created using Midjourney’s bot (v4). Image and poem ©Misky 2023 Shared on Twitter #amwriting @midjourney