First of May - Charli Wiggill

Giants of Industry

Owned by bigSignificants

Managed by mediumFrustrateds

Propped up by littleAngereds

Wekkas – boxed inSignificance

Wekkas – boxed inFrustration

Wekkas – boxed inAnger

Common lesserspotted

gardentype wekkas

a colony of millions

Are on the march

Going for it hammer and sickle

Redtide pulsing through conscience

Proper Giants of Industry                                                                                                  

Feminine Charms

So she stands, proudly

Magnificent presence

No plaintive apologies or

Inane wisps of small talk

Tall and lithe

From special stock

Good breeding

Lady, with requisite charm

Her silky soft folds

Velvet shimmer complexion

Sensuous pink porcelain

Surrounds my thoughts

Her heady sweet scent

Envelopes my being

Pervades reality

Rivets attention

Budding femininity

Demurely, a late bloomer

Rustles gently as she moves

Celebration of the senses

So, ‘Lady Astor’

Climbs from her bed

Stretches seductively

Reaching for the sky

And

Promptly loses three

Glorious full blooms –

Lopped off insensitively

For the mantelpiece

They are

Building Extensions

Procedurally similar to

breast augmentation

Or possibly

A penile implant -

Without an anaesthetic.

Taking your living room

They rip off the wall

And implant a sliding-folding door -

A gaping wound for a week

Dining room loses its roof

New roof suffers prostate trouble

Drips, drips, drips

A real pain in the arse

(so to speak)

Quadruple garage swallows the front garden

whole

patch of kitchen ceiling

crashes down

where the surgeon fell through

whilst fine-tuning the electricity!

With the family’s comings and goings

I hope this erection

Doesn’t grow out of all proportion -

As with most plastic surgery

The before and after

Offer a remarkable look at life -

Does the extension add to the house

Or does the house add to the extension:

Always remember that.

Augmentation can flop

Just a little.

Casketts Store

Retro architecture

hip, but forty years

late and musty

crumbling concrete,

square root of antiquity;

monthendrushdawnstheday

shelvesbulging with stuff;

bolts of brightfabric

parotted and exoticked beyond

a dusty bushveld experience,

soaps and sanitaries, cheap clothing

and floridfrocks, loadsofbrownbread,

lanternwicksbythemetre

binspiled with

staplegrains;

mealie-meal and stickygoldensugar,

maltcloudschoking

the humidair

mopani worms, sundried

in a grimmace of potent protein

greycast-iron three-legged pots,

fat-tackie bicycles with

optional mirrors and bells,

44 gallondrumsof

cookingoil and paraffin -

cutting a scalpel-line through

the nostrils

up on all eightyears of tippy-toe

i peer over the expansive

counterplain,

amassedeagerfaces awaiting their turn

acocoaveneeroffaces

only skindeep

patiently a little closer to service

sweatynotes dispensed from bra’s

meagrecoins gently squeezed by

untying the corners of a spent cloth -

so pastoralscene continues

exchanges of warmgreetingsliterally,

shinynewgoods and bloodedcash

andthenheappears:

Mr. nonamebrandvanillaflavour strutsin -

cocoamass melts to subservience,

a sterileservile sundae of apology

for being there, no, for being

shufflingoutofthewayforgreatbrashsuperiority

Apocalypse

Environmentchokes,

Lastgaspsofbreath.

Personkind’s definitive meltdown

Of our emaciated orb.

Doomsdaypropheteering,

Bedevilledprofiteering.

The meaning of life

Centering our very existence.

Family wasteland,

Wanton destruction:

Kitchendevastation.

No time for hope,

little left to live.

The end of the world just

Has to be nigh:

Our dishwasher is on the blink!