JAMES BROUGHTON

“I may be infecting the whole body,” said the head, “But they’ll never amputate me.”

JAMES BROUGHTON
“Tristan at the Seashore”

Apathy and delirium sun themselves on the porch.
All the old dragons loll along the beach.
Such lightning has rather a hazy lurch.
The rabbits are very pink around here, said Tristan.
What twitters the duckling dreams?
Catamount jars wilt away in the sand
for the scalawag sock-maker has long since skipped.
Monkeyshine and mollycoddle walk hand in hand
buying mouse miracles in every shop.
Sloth and wheedling play ball in the hammock.
All the cold boas curl around the deck.
Not much wind for propping up a rope trick.
These glassblowers have very thin bottlenecks, said Tristan.
What withers all goldfish schemes?

JAMES BROUGHTON

"Afternoons in Ceylon I"

____________________

Luncheon had made us hungry

for one another

After the curry and fried bananas

we added our own heat to

the hot afternoon

simmering in sweat and coconut oil

as our two humidities rose

high   higher                     Bang!

outside the window        Bang!Bang!

and the houseboy’s laughing shout

He had been tossing firecrackers

at the roof

to dislodge itinerant pigeons

But at his feet had fallen

a passing oriole

shocked into gape      beak ajar

Hurrying from the bedroom

half-saronged

we saw him kneel to the yellow bird

fondle      cajole      kiss it      offer it

back to the day

Still it sat rigid in his hand

Chuckling then      you said

Is this a golden trophy of

our shooting match?

At which the oriole blinked

stretched and puffed

spurted into the air

vanished beyond the pawpaw tree

JAMES BROUGHTON

“I may be infecting the whole body,” said the head, “But they’ll never amputate me.”

JAMES BROUGHTON - “Tristan at the Seashore” 

Apathy and delirium sun themselves on the porch.
All the old dragons loll along the beach.
Such lightning has rather a hazy lurch.

The rabbits are very pink around here, said Tristan.
What twitters the duckling dreams?

Catamount jars wilt away in the sand
for the scalawag sock-maker has long since skipped.
Monkeyshine and mollycoddle walk hand in hand
buying mouse miracles in every shop.

Sloth and wheedling play ball in the hammock.
All the cold boas curl around the deck.
Not much wind for propping up a rope trick.

These glassblowers have very thin bottlenecks, said Tristan.
What withers all goldfish schemes?