D. S. Maolalai

Rockery gardens

the road is an old

sun-bleached

seashell.

workmen

in ditches

lean down

by exhaust-

bleaching trees.

the greyness of skin

in a room

full of overused

ash trays.

young men

in yellow

around orange

cones; flowers

in rockery

gardens. the sun

quite abusive

above them. its heat

a sharp violence

and traffic diversions

which turn.

Short stories

I tell her I just read

short stories and poems

since I can't

keep my eyes

to a novel. she says

I'm surprised

that you've stuck it

with me then,

if you’re so

very easily

lost. I look up

from my stories (all brautigan;

delightful, so witty

and rarely four

paragraphs)

and tell her but love –

no, you're hardly

a novel – at worst

a collection

of pages.

nothing with you

must depend

on the past

or set up a plot-

point for later. you are

just the moment

and the moment

you're in.

she nods then,

quite happily

with the short

weight of rot

that I've sold her,

looks back at the page

I've been trying to read,

at the line

which my finger

is holding.

Tomatoes

she'd left me her housekeys

and a sheet of instructions

to visit each two or three days.

give food to the goldfish

and check on her flowers

and vegetables. I was told

that tomatoes

drank water for turtles,

and to pour it straight down

like a beggar

gone lucky in lotto

season. a week

in late August;

not very much

happening. going

and checking things

while the dog nosed her flowers

and shat by the door

on the patio. a pleasant

simple week –

I got to see the point

of gardening. around me

things blossomed

and fruit became fat. later

she served them at dinner

but I don't like

tomatoes. everyone

else had some.

apparently

they were delicious.

D. S. Maolalai has been nominated eight times for Best of the Net and five times for the Pushcart Prize. His poetry has been released in two collections, Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden (Encircle Press, 2016) and Sad Havoc Among the Birds (Turas Press, 2019) Email: diarmo90@live.ie