Alchemisland

Three hours before her drowned body was found

By a neighbour, lifelong resident of this pleasant town

One Mr. Taylor-Pound, who came around

To shut closed a gale slammed gate, being neighbourly in that way

He froze, like a stone image of lotus-pillaging Thutmose

Silent as the line filing up to imbibe Christ-imbued host

He went to the pondside, shards of old frozen like glass broken underfoot

Without muttering, without so much as a croak, he waded

To where she floated, tumescent, bloated into necklessness

This last act of life-wrecking infant recklessness

The wind shook artful hair from starcusp blossom branches

Resulting in avalanches of inappropriate confetti

He left her there dead, wet, and messy on the front step

Then went to his own shed and blew off his head.