A poem about scales

The flame is a scale held to the light.
It flickers in petition. It bids us to reignite
some salacity already gutted from our life.

red herring

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Yes, that last line is akin to a title. I remembered that Debussy does likewise in his Préludes.

At the moment I am swimming with the red herrings. There’s perhaps another poem in that, though I have been imagining a fantastical puppet show. “Swimming with Red Herrings” would involve fire-eaters and tea-lights. There would have to be a pond on stage.

My grocery list of current cravings includes asparagus, scrambled eggs, real sheep and goat’s milk feta and the freshest pita bread from my local Greek-Cypriot grocer (Tony’s, incidentally). For some reason, I can’t get these items off my mind.

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