Looking At Geoff Through A Basil Plant
It is sitting on the kitchen table.
The rain drums on the windows,
cold with summer’s end. His eyes, blue-green,
stare through the leaves, future sacrifices
to pesto and other sauces.
The plant almost died, unwatered,
while he was in Florida. Its stems yellowed,
its leaves withered, but we saved it.
We used the basil from our garden
while it recovered. Those other plants
are dead now; Geoff made them into pesto
to save them from the autumn’s
first frost. There’s still some left,
in a plastic container in the fridge,
pesto made from fresh basil, pine nuts,
olive oil, parmesan, and garlic.
Mix it in a blender.
We put it on our pasta.
We’ll be eating it for a while,
the rain will turn to snow,
then we’ll harvest, sparingly,
so as to keep it alive,
the leaves of the plant sitting here
in the middle of the kitchen table.
Poet Walking
In an unfamiliar neighborhood,
I saw a poet walking past,
in his hand a small blue book—
perhaps some poet from the past?
While I was sitting in the park,
he came back the other way,
still carrying that small blue book.
He didn’t hear me call his name.
Ray Pissts
Wee weepeenies donut wint annie
mexuggan wraipissts andoora
sum good peepullers interring hier.
Hour cuntry hiss fools,
hissed the Peesidental
and bethought hisself,
ownly I and eye allown
shill fool thiss cuntry
tizz off theepee.
About the Author
Andrew Shields lives in Basel, Switzerland. His collection of poems “Thomas Hardy Listens to Louis Armstrong” was published by Eyewear in June 2015. His band Human Shields released the album “Somebody’s Hometown” in 2015 and the EP “Défense de jouer” in 2016. His poems have recently appeared online in Talking About Strawberries, Delta Poetry Review, London Grip, and Oddball Magazine.
