I'VE GOT THIS CONTAGIOUS SMILE ON MY FACE

I’VE GOT THIS CONTAGIOUS SMILE ON MY FACE

I’ve got this contagious smile on my face

I traded a dentist friend for a painting of a great blue heron

at the focal point of a lake with irises and waterlilies in it.

Now I understand that skull with crowns above my desk.

He’s proud of his teeth, too. And the dragon

from the R-complex at the back of my brain.

He’s the tumour. And that must be me. I’m Icarus falling.

I hear it’s good to die with a smile on your face.

But I mustn’t get worked up about this. I’m tired.

And the evening is as blue and beautiful

as a bruised Prussian uniform on parade

for the very last time before it glows in the dark

like that smile of mine. Darkness work your magic on me.

Deadly nightshade. Persian violets like the lights

of a city coming on. And the light, the dark that shines,

what a shade, caressing your skin like a cat burglar

you’re going to let in to take the curtains off your bed

like an empire of classical blue velour. Stern stuff. But true.

Maybe I was a sacred painter afterall. The oracle

at Delphi in a funeral pall. With lemon bitter on the side.

At least, it ain’t parsley. And there’s a clown in it

I always wondered about. Now I know. This is crazy.

PATRICK WHITE