Aladdin, Sinbad, Scheherazade and all that
It was as if
all of his life he’d been stoppered,
some kind of Eau de Genie
in thick green glass
Muttering around inside
was his whole world
in those shadowed rooms
he ate, slept, busied himself
often cleaning the windows
that from time to time let through
a few flickers of sunlight
Blaming his parents
for their lack of vision
in choosing him
from rows of dusty
undistinguished corked bottles
And then some
cheeky youngster rubbed him
innocently
Helooo
is there anyone inside?
You wouldn’t believe what emerged
when the cork blew off
newspapers, shirtsleeves, organ grinders,
orange peel sunsets, beachcombers
chocolate liqueur, waterfalls, poetry,
encyclopedias, the Michelin Man
And it’s not over yet
not by a long way
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© Johnmichael Simon
2008
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