Neurotica

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she cried,

"the smallest thing upsets me so much...

like when my phone went dead suddenly,

on Sunday afternoon, I became frantic,

and when it started working again,

half an hour later, I grew suspicious...

was someone else using it to make long-distance calls?

I am very touchy about scratches on my car,

about the servant not turning up,

about an unexpected power cut.

Often I spend hours looking for things I've misplaced,

only to find them under my nose.

The slightest alteration in the established order

makes me retreat into my shell.

Worst of all is illness,

when the body itself plays truant...."

Sobbing, she convulsed into my arms,

breasts heaving.

                   Of course, I didn't

have any answers.  But I must admit,

I was a little concerned--and most aroused.

 


Back to Selected Poems from The Used Book

 
  Copyright © 2005 - Makarand Paranjape