new zealand electronic poetry centre

 

Mark Young


online works
 

THE UNICORN

I wait, wondering if your car will come.

There is this tension about me,
a taste of metal in the throat.

                                            Outside,
in the bright night air, the planes sound
like bombers coming in to land. Each bears
a full load of passengers, on the tourist trail,
who will soon come knocking at my door,
looking to see how the other half lives.

I will show them through the house, past
peacocks & persian cats, & artifacts
of long forgotten tribes. Then I will open
the door of the secret room, from out of which
comes flowers & fireworks, hiding
the rancid sweatsmell of the unicorn
that lives there.

                     Its hooves strike sparks
that burn the eyes. It is growing hungry.
I will have to feed it soon.

I wait, wondering if your car will come.

 

Mark Young


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Last updated 10 March, 2004