A postmordern poem


I’d travel to the ends of time
For you, my one, my only love.
I’d force the sun to leave its track
(If you were lost) to fetch you back.
I’d suck the juices from a lime,
I’d re-write Moby Dick in rhyme,
I’d happily commit a crime!
For you, my dearest darling dove.
I’d do it all, and more beside –
Now would you take the trash outside?

Sharon Hopkins
Winter, 1989-90