96: Self-portrait in still life
Bruce Goodman © 26 July 2020

Today I pulled out weeds in the garden.
I don’t have a clue what the weeds are called.
I s’pose they have names.
I have a weed book (with illustrations) called
“Weeds”. All the names inside

            are Latin, like Taraxacum officinal
            which is just an antediluvian nomenclature for dandelion.
            A friend of mine once made tea out of Taraxacum officinal and got the runs.
            Yes, I have friends.
            (I’ve never heard of you either).

                        (Fa la la la la).

One of the weeds was all tanglely and sticky.
Another had roots so deep it snapped underground.
Yet another was prickly
and another slimy because of spit beetle spit.
Anyway, I couldn’t help but think –

            I am a fern frond stuck in a vase in a still life painting
            - not that a fern is a weed -
            stuck in a vase with a couple of dowdy dead flowers,
            and next to a banana.

                        (Fa la la la la).

I am a fern frond stuck in a vase.
I am a fern frond stuck in a vase next to a banana.
The frond reminds Mabel up the road of the most intricate lace.
But it’s the same all the way up.
It’s the same all the way down.

            Everything’s the same.
            It’s the same fa la la la la.

                        (Fa la la la fucking fa la).

Some days I feel the need to escape
the picture.

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