The Betrayed Town and Other Poems

The Lodge

17 The Lodge “The Lodge,” they call it With its seventy-two rooms! The beggar cannot get through He does not know the password And never will. Built during the rule of Puttkammer It is now the Prime Minister’s residence Or is it ? It now stands empty. The silver and furniture polished daily -I wonder how the flowers fare If their odors still pervade the rooms And where is the kind florist? Who slides down the staircase now And can I still climb to the roof to raise the flag? Whose feet scurry through the halls As crystal chinks and father tries to outwit peeping Toms Has the court been overtaken by moss No balls wing their way back and forth No agile feet run or stroll the gardens, I muse. Your manicured terraces afforded playing grounds But the gorge frightened me Even as the bridge allowed passage. Is the tree still lit at Christmas? And the jackfruit, yes, the jackfruit! Evidence stuck on our lips and hands Provoking scoldings first then lashings A mien of cleanliness and innocence obtained From gas siphoned from parked Pontiacs and Bentleys. Yes, we cleaned up well and good. We surely did---- 18 Flexing cricking shoulders Replacing misty spectacles Righting a stoop with a staff, She stands alone by the mountainside To ask questions of no one And recalls memories others would soon forget. Ottawa, 1978 The River Ariveris amassofwater collectingdebris eatingawaytheland overflowingitsbanks andeventhatthatisbeautiful. A river is a a mass of water collecting debris eating away the land overflowing its banks and even that is beautiful. A river is my love With its ripplings, sighings and lappings Its soothings and engulfing Its conquerings of new frontiers. A river is the lion’s roaring fierceness Or catlike stealth Overpowering ...