Selected Poems

B. Mohassess, 2010

PROPHET MOHAMMAD’S ROSE

 

I’ve decided to take the plunge,

dive headlong into disaster.

 

I undress,

clip on borrowed wings

and expect the worst.

I know once dead,

there’s more dying yet.

 

Once I opened my mouth,

God looked away and whispered,

She’ll not survive the reckoning.

 

That night I played backgammon,

lost every round. God mumbled

over my shoulder,

She never allows for the holy ghost.

 

I’m easy game, more fragrant dead

than alive, like the Prophet Mohammad’s rose.