The Cruellest Month

Proof of the Proverb

My gong has rung out
and resounds in my brain:
be careful, be mindful,
be joyful, be peaceful.
So I shut it in a cupboard,
and it bongs in the dark.

My mother told me
(under cats and dogs)
to listen to cliches
which rise from the truth;
the proof of the proverb
is worth two in the bush.

I once had jugs that ran over,
vases ringed with puddles,
a flooded buffalo lawn
and a very deep end;
but now I'm high and dry,
my bucket rises empty
and how I miss the water!

I gave out jugs of clotted cream,
vessels fat with buttermilk,
perpetuating pots of yoghurt,
calcium gifts for bones, teeth;
but I was too easy, too free,
and so nobody bought the cow.

I spread out the blood and bone,
raked manure by the bagful,
used paint, dye, powders,
and wore my emerald glasses
but the grass was so much greener
at the neighbour's.

I was taken to the cleaner's
with my best foot forward,
and all my bells are ringing,
Ding, dang, dong.


April 19—well gone dry