by Simon Maddrell
Shelling peas, the English professor
(might have) said,
is repetitive, but very easy
but the literal act
is not a metaphor.
I must stop stealing acorns
from a blind pig, my tapas
just doesn’t taste as good.
The metaphysical detective
(might have) said,
Have you ever tried to get fish into a barrel?
She wonders how many shots
it takes to make it empty.
Did you ever take candy from a baby?
She wonders whether
their eyes were shut
and ears unplugged.
The philosophical lumberjack
(might have) said,
Have you ever fallen off a log?
Wondering what really
is the point?
The Trini mama knows
that shelling peas is
the answer to everything,
especially the boiling
affairs of love:
Tabanca
the pain of being unknown
when he doesn’t know
the pain of do not care
even when he does
dumped from one to the other
frozen over everywhen.
Shelling peas, the English professor
(might have) added,
is especially easy or intuitive
as if they are the same thing.
My African mother says
I’m an expert, though
I only found that out by
sitting, watching & listening.
The psychic cook
(might have) said,
It isn’t sacrificing boredom
using tinned peas.
She predicted that making
pie was not so easy
without dried peas.
What I know
is that rituals of connection
are lost with frozen peas.
[Simon Maddrell was born in Douglas, Isle of Man in 1965 and brought up in Bolton, Lancashire. He has lived in London, UK since 1999. Driven by his Queer Manx identity, Simon seeks to discover truths using words that move, scuba diving and cycling.]
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