The Child and A Gothic Education

A Gothic or Romantic nature?
Tectonic plates clash: a marriage that ascends to still greater heights.
Out of the water we climb Mont Blanc.

On the bus we discussed the cost of a Big Mac in London, Berlin, and Paris.  Austerity bites and a clown, chasing away the burglar, opens hospices with the click of a finger and a magic noun.

Half way up the mountain a lunch stop clatter atop rocks that used to be submerged under the sea.  We gasp and trace the fossils with our fingers.  Where we used to be.  Life raft.  I see Victor chasing his monster over the peaks hotly pursued by a writer and her poet lover.  Still wet from drowning.

Spinning out of control we begin to fall through fresh snow.  Off piste, skiers curse and swear at us; our calves burnt fifty shades of hot pink. Then, in a blink, down we hurtle, like angels, towards Chamonix.  The scenery turning to spring.

Ice kitchens and glaciers, chiseled Shakespearean actors, all perfectly pushing pines.  Harmony.

These are the days we are burnt to a crisp or cooled in the dark alpine glades.  On a pyre, many miles north, the monster’s memory blisters and fades.

Did you ever see?

Three blind mice, see how they run

They all ran after the farmer’s wife

Who cut off their tails with a carving knife

Did you ever see such a thing in your life

As three blind mice. 

To wipe away children’s tears,

(and hide poverty’s arrears)

and to allay fears

(as the multitude nears),

our overhead conscience clears

as these taxless profiteers,

with their tactless sneers,

these do-goody dears,

pause from the usual bum-steers

and provide a quick weet-bix fix.

A sanitarium for drowning refugees.

Three jeers for the racketeers

and the cunning privateers.

And the countless blind peers,

lining the jetties and piers,

gawping soundless cheers.