David Jackson

Retail Egyptology

In the supermarket
Where navel oranges are stacked high
With great precision
Like the great pyramid of Gaza,
And Santa Rosa plums
Form a lesser monument
For a more mediocre monarch
In The Valley of the Kings.

I am the jackal -faced god,
A duster of old bones
And petrified flesh,
Who breathes the desert air
At 5:00 a.m. and peers wearily
Over the meat counter,
For a fleeting glimpse
Of the floating head
Of Queen Nefertiti
In hopes her regal gaze
Will fall on my English cut roast.

Awake Osiris to the sound
Of the Nile’s water
And sea birds calling from the reeds
To catch the gleam of light
On stainless steel countertops
For it is the deli meats
Hanging in long strands from the ceiling,
Indeed it is the garlic bologna and hard salami
That unites the upper and lower kingdoms.
_____________________________________

(c) Doug Tanoury 2002
***

The Lost and Forgotten

Working Class Generation.

We who left school in 1968 without

Honours and degrees, had dreams when

We filled factories and building sites

With youthful laughter which soon

Stopped when run over by the juggernaut

Of life, marriage and a high rise flat.

Later when work dried up, no skills no

Education and too old for a new job,

Divorce, queuing at the dole a flight

Into booze, walking the streets of rue,

Fuck it all and waiting for tomorrow.

Lady of Mercy, only one dream left,

That of coming up on the pool, quid’s

In, a round of drinks for the mates in

The pub and self-respect; we know it

Won’t happen but dream we must, or

Be flotsam in streets of regrets where

It’s always gloomy and eyes have lost

The sheen of hope.

***

——————————————————————————–

Camouflaged in gray and white,
she lay amongst mismatched gloves.
Two mittens stroked pawing fingers,
until the warmth of a friend
seemed more important
than the thrill of a sleigh ride.

***