The Metaphysics Of Windows

Arthur enters the bakery.

You're back, says the baker, surprised.

Give me paper, says Arthur, and I'll give you the poem.

The baker gives Arthur a sheet of white paper.

And a pen, says Arthur.

The baker produces a red one, of the type that all businessmen have.

Arthur writes his poem on the white paper. It looks good in red. He gives it to the baker, who reads it aloud:

The Metaphysics of Windows

( the baker looks mildly disappointed by the title, but continues )

There's blood on the grass
below the grey grid
outside the stained glass window
in Brampton

the babies are begging for jam
give us blood red jam mother

she addresses her birdhead
blood red jam is inside
she arches her sacrificial neck
beats her wing against the locked door

her breast bursts open
blood red jam drips to the floor

stop mother cry the babies
there is jam on the grass
below the grey grid
outside the stained glass window
in Brampton

enough for us all.

That's good, says the baker. I like the way you incorporated the jam. But I was hoping for something less metaphysical.

Too bad, says Arthur. And I think it's worth more than one bun. Can I have another one? That one?

He points to a Belgian bun, with a half glace cherry on top.

Not yet, says the baker. Not till I see that the poem is working.

He sticks it in the front window near the door.

Two girls come along. They stop, read the poem, turn to one another, nod, and come inside.

Nice poem you've put up in the window, says one of the girls. Makes you hungry. We'll have two lattes and two large jam buns.

Certainly ladies, says the baker. Just sit down and make yourselves comfy. I'll bring them over to you.

He looks at Arthur and grins.

But Arthur is staring out of the window at the still bleeding vicar, who is peering intently inside.