THE DAINTY MONSTERS
Michael
Ondaatje
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The Republic
This house, exact,
coils with efficiency and style.
A different heaven here,
air even is remade in the basement.
The plants fed daily
stand like footmen by the windows,
flush with decent green
and meet the breeze with polish;
no dancing with the wind here.
Too much reason in its element
passions crack the mask in dreams.
While we sleep
the plants in frenzy heave floors apart,
lust with common daisies,
feel rain,
fling their noble bodies, release a fart.
The clock alone, frigid and superior,
swaggers in the hall.
At dawn gardenias revitalize
and meet the morning with decorum.
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