By ALAN FINLAY
It’s our wedding anniversary—i almost forgot.
been drowning listening to bartók,
and when i say
drowning i mean—
you run bathwater
submerge yourself, exhausted
“ask daddy”
enough of an interruption:
can’t i switch the CD off
to play tarzan.
ok, just press stop.
wez stopf.
it’s the little square button,
and so on.
he’ll be back,
daddi thez so many square buttins
you in the bath
leaves falling in the other room
as he heaves
back down the two big
steps to me
naked
to complain.
Alan Finlay lives in Johannesburg and has published the poetry Burning Aloes, No Free Sleeping (with Donald Parenzee and Vonani Bila), and The Red Laughter of Guns in Green Summer Rain: Chainpoems with Phillip Zhuwao, and, most recently, pushing from the riverbank.
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