Link to click to read death poems which are part of the literary writings in the book called THIS IS A PICTURE OF YOUR GOD: A HUGH COOK READER

IN THE LAND OF BIG BROCCOLI


This may end in divorce:
Death, no lawyers required.
But, as yet,
My computer still acknowledges my password.
And she, my name.

In the land of big broccoli, a question:
Are there cockroaches in this country?
Her naive surmise is no
But yes there are.
The live-in-the-wild indigenous
Which will not dwell in the house
And the world-sourced indoor-sharers,
With intent for which we bought traps.

The land of big broccoli,
It is a world both familiar and strange,
The broccoli heaved huge by summer,
Luxuriant kiwi broccoli
Forgotten by the ice-locked winter of Japan.
In the land of big broccoli
Cooking oil is cooking oil,
But brine, non-obvious, requires a theory.

In the land of big broccoli
The very ugly sweets are ugly,
Structured blabs of crudest color
Garish with optimism,
Unrepentant,
Slabbed between tire-tread black,
Construction blocks
Masquerading as confectionery:
Liquorice allsorts,
An alien unknown.

In the land of big broccoli
Manuka honey is manuka honey,
The known and loved elite.
The ugliness of the ugly sweets
Can be endured,
Perhaps even forgiven.
The fish
Are sourced from the same ocean,
The planetary ocean
Sharing the common shores.