THE FINAL EPISODE


THE FINAL EPISODE

The man opposite opens his window carefully,
Only to shut it with a thump, and clamp both hands
Over his mouths stifling a dry grunt.

The window is two meters high. The swallow grass beneath
Clatters several layers of frost, and on the dark red
            Wall
A scorpion tries to climb through the glass. Tries and
            fails.

The man breaths out a mist, flattens his nose on a
            window-pane,
then prowls round his room. He kicks up dust clouds;
his white jacket blanches his face to a famished lime-colour.



There is a cudgel in his hand which points to this and
            that,
as if at any moment he might shatter the glass and
            jump
into the glaring daylit world through a jagged O
rimmed with his own blood. But he does nothing of
            the sort.

And anyway; you and I can’t be bothered with him
            any more
The frost is thickening on our windows too.
That’s right - why would anyone be interested
in watching him now? In watching anyone. Or
            anything.
That scorpion, for instance, or whatever it is.


Andrew Motion
Original Version of Poem by Hong Ying

No comments:

Post a Comment