A Gnomic Limerence

• Fiona Lin, Grade 11
• Poetry
• 2012

To my most gregarious garden gnome
Address, unknown (somewhere battered under a stone).

A lion’s mane of hair, but white, in the fading day’s light,
Some respite from mania, let’s lie on the grass side by side,
Your red shirt, against the soft tender green, burning bright,
Next to a letterbox – I’m jealous of your mail order brides.

I tried texting. You don’t respond. Pick up your phone?
No matter – we’ll talk face-to-face, noses pressed together,
I’ll kneel down to you, perched upon a wooden throne,
I find deep beauty in your finely carved cheekbones.

Why don’t you just talk to me? Why do you refuse?
Turn around to face me? I’ve tried every Internet dating tip –
My red scarf, co-ordinated to match yours; but you don’t peruse,
You snooze. Still you still stare with glassy eyes, frozen lip.

I leave. It’s futile. You never listen to me. I know you just
want peace, quiet. Some solitude as you await inevitable rust.