Pond, woodcut by Frederick Nunley
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Pip Wilson

 

 

 

 

This is the blog where I post poetry as I find it in the fishpond outside the door of my garden flat.

 

 

 

 



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I look into a fishpond  

fishpond: a prophecy


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Monday, February 28, 2005

Not the whole Secret Service, just Graham makes them nervous,
and they could feel a lot better about Hedda.
They're not trying to diss, but unless she insists,
she's not part of this. "So who'd really miss
nasty Hedda?" Win begins. "Not Lumwedder ..."


Tim plays with his salad. "I don't know if that's valid,
Winnie. Sure, Hedda's different, no contest.
But to say that she's nasty -- I think that's too hasty.
I think maybe she's spaced, she --" "Hey, Tim, that looks tasty!"
says Cletus. Says Tim, "Be my guest.


"There's some who say Hedda is one of the better
First Ladies this country has had."
"Like you said, no contest," (Geoff's idea of a jest).
"OK, Geoff, we're impressed, but it's no intelligence test
to marry a president. I'm not sure she's so bad.


"Why does everyone pillory her? She's no Hillary,
no Nancy." (Is there an echo in here?)
"So what if she's rich?" "Timmy! Tim!! She's a bitch!"
says Carlos. The pitch of the topic must switch,
so Cletus says "Ditch it!! She'll hear!"


"Whatever," says Heather, "I never think about Hedda.
But I think about 'Listen to this serial'.
And 'CI581' -- I don't know where they come
from, these oracles Lum is getting. Am I dumb?"
"You're not dumb," Tim replies. "But it's immaterial ...



"I feel an epiphany coming on."

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