Brouhaha

Brouhaha

Dubai

For Faten

The serried gloating clang,

The vile awkwardness

Of the hammering –

Nearby, at a distance – construct this

Mortgage of and in the ear…

Certainly, the wife’s not song-

Smitten by this brouhaha, and as

You might expect, she speaks her mind

And builds this fear, these

Concrete layers of fear…

There are no summery illusions here

(Blinder within gladness

And madder in the hat’s own bower)

For this and this and this is where

The moan of a woman’s most

Naked, native power

May come to make his sadness,

Whale-large with incompetence

As he is

At the hawk-sharp sibilance

Of these eyeless rocky serpents

Winding round the ear, making

That same dumb feature hear

The fat and burning heart

Of a grub or a louse.

I want to forge her happiness

In the verse of a different house.