NILE LESSON

I am doing my level best
to teach the art of poetry
to the Queen of the Nile

knowing that
the slightest pedagogical
mistake might turn
my body into
a pincushion for arrows

and so
words hang back, prove0
extraordinarily reluctant

stick in my throat
like fat scarab beetles

even as
a real, intrepid scarab
attempts to
cross the palace floor
for which gross violation
and fatal impropriety

she does catch
and crack it open
its
carapace
being no match

and me left
thinking, wondering
if there be
a metaphor here
to elucidate
for her desired
edification

but then
when (Isis-inspired)
I ask her to regale me
with list
upon list
of words whose sound she loves

those lethal eyes dance

her voice
goes gold filigree

mind
rises to the moment
as if
a thing of fine silver
housed in bluest
lapis-lazuli

is all, she is all,
softest of waves
about
to crash on the shore after
crossing the Mediterranean

I am, for my sins,
trying my utmost
to teach
the art of poetry
to the Queen of the Nile

Published by Damian Garside