The beauty of life

It all happened one afternoon
When all three voices woke up to quarrel in Mr Frank's head.

Mr Frank, good afternoon. 
Hello, Franky, are you there?
Frankly, I think you ought to listen to me!
Good afternoon!
Oh, not you (naturally), why
Would I be talking to you—like
You wouldn't expect to see
A violin speaking with the case, 
Would you?

Please don't talk about the music or the religion. 
Items of faith and preference
Are materials for cheap dinner-table bickers, and 
I haven't ate much lately (what does that have to do with anything?)—
Let's talk about the weather, 
Like good gentlemen. 
Listen to how (how the storm will roam
Across this island, brushing trees on their knees
And pushing fishing boats into debris—but it'll be gone in a week) 
The wind is blowing, oh dear, I think there may be a storm!
There was a storm fifty years ago, yes—
(How memories fog through hours and morph through years)
I had a baseball cap, and the storm came and it
Flew away—'twas like a kite 
(Oh, how we all mourn for our innocence
In pain—in pain)!

You are mixing up the tenses. 
So what? 
Franky hasn't come to his senses (oh, don't be spiteful). 
Don't you dare be spiteful! 
He's speechless, and motionless (he gazed into
The orange sky and thought about a paler shade). 
He spoon-fed himself last night with an iron spoon, 
And had many mouthfuls of breakfast cereal.

Shame! He just threw a clock at us! 
That's the mirror, dear
(But we're hurt nevertheless). 
Do you think he's turning mad?
His arms are both raised—high-above-his-head—
And he's been waving them frantically 
For minutes (it'll soon be hours, 
But what does it matter?) and—oh, good gracious!
Do you think he has turned mad? 
Oh, the mirror just cracked (no, but 
Do not worry—
He will not do anything harsh) and he is cut! 
We've got to (listen to me, 
It's going to be all right, just remain calm) do something! 
He has picked up the broken glass (no—but 
I do not understand—I do not see—am I—is it possible?)—
We should take that piece of reflection away 
From him. 
Let's pick-up the shard and discard it. 
Throw it away! I said, throw it away!

Their nuisance deceased that night. 
Next morning, the storm has left, but the rain persisted. 
On the couch sat Frank in silence. 
If you look into the window, 
Under the sun, you could almost see three shadows passed away:
One in the mirror; one in the rain; 
And the third one 
Dancing in your eyes.

Dale Chou
2001-09-15