Possum
On the news tonight
was a woman who
evaded marriage
by pretending to be dead.
She could have said no,
so this was a clear,
if clearly indirect,
disengagement
and instructive example
for useful deployment.
I have at this moment
a very awkward request
lying awkwardly on my desk.
I intend to avoid it
by pretending to be dead.
The office can make contact
to say Mr Hattaway
will not be responding
today or tomorrow
because he seems to be dead.
I very much like weddings
but dancing is not my strength.
In future, to avoid dancing,
I’ll pretend to be dead.
A neighbour’s dispute
over noise or poor parking?
Pretend to be dead.
It’s Mother’s Day
or some other event
seeking appropriate tokens
of esteem and affection,
which you have forgotten
to procure.
Pretend to be dead.
In a drinking game
but over your head?
If unconscious doesn’t work,
pretend to be dead.
No TV licence?
Pretend to be dead.
In the pub,
trapped in discourse on
the thrombo-erotic
as a semantic signifier
in a proto-causative
post-prose context.
You could pretend
to be well-read
or to be dead.
Grass needs cutting?
Pretend to be dead.
Your turn for the dishes?
Pretend to be dead.
The house work or making the bed?
Pretend to make the bed
– for the rest, pretend to be dead.
Need post-modern irony
to update your rep?
Pretend to be alive.
If the critics don’t buy it,
pretend to pretend
to be dead.
Lent money to friends
who won’t pay, or mention, the lend?
Pretend they are dead.
Afraid of the world
where the world is a threat?
Bury your head in the sand
and leave it there.
Then you won’t have to pretend.
Or repent.
Be prepared for extended pretending
and don’t abandon
the insurance or rent
and do what you can
to stay out of debt,
because one way or the other
the pretending, like the lending,
must end.
Ross Hattaway is from New Zealand and lives in Dublin. Seven Towers has published both of his collections, The Gentle Art of Rotting and Pretending to Be Dead