Dorothy - a poem by Malcolm Beckett

Dorothy

Good Day.  Please forgive my considerable
agitation;
I believe that I am lost,
as I cannot find them, nor the car
that brought me here, or rather,
somewhere over there,
behind that wood.

I am most extremely
tired,
and would be grateful for...
Ah.  Thank you.
My name is...



                         Night

In the night,
sometimes,
I dream of dreadful things.
I am terribly sorry about the gas.
May I stay a while,
anyway?



                         Thang

I beg your pardon, My Dear,
but I suspect you haven't noticed
that I cannot drink this water.
There is a thang
in it.
Thank you very much.



                      Daily Bugle

Come out here where I can see you,
all the rest of you!
do you think I'm going to walk 
all the way to your houses,
without knowing if you are
there?
You, up the street!
You, down the way!
Come out!

Well, now I suppose you might as well come here,
instead.
Hmph.



                        Illness

Forgive me, My Dear, but
I seem to have had a silly
accident.
Now, you have hands...
would you mind,
terribly?
Oh, thank you...




                        Absence

I do not see you,
packing, over there.
I do not know what
packing is about.
And I do not care.
I will lie here in the doorway,
all by myself,
happily preparing to be
All Alone
Forever.  Again.

Oh, were you going
somewhere?




                        Friends

These are my friends.
I have brought them home
for a snack.

Pay no attention
to the one
who farts.



                         Death

I am, as you may gather,
in considerable pain.
I may be dying.
If it wouldn't be too much trouble
to pat me
while I do?

Thank you.

And I love you,
too.