My One and Only Lie
By the time this story ends, my friends,
I hope you do not die.
For if you do
youll miss whats true
and whats my one and only lie.
On the street where I live is a man who makes cake.
Hes proud that he makes and bakes All-Kind-Of-Cake.
The next shop along, on the bakers right side,
is All-Kind-Of-Shoe, some plastic some hide.
Next to Shoe is a shop packed with All-Kind-of-Ring
then All-Kind-Of-Phone and All-Kind-of-Painting.
All-Kind-of-Tool follows All-Kind-Of-Shirt,
All-Kind-of-Trouser then All-Kind-of-Skirt.
Thats only street level. Cast your eye up above
to the rooms where Im sure they make All-Kind-Of-Love.
Where I live Im lucky for my street lacks nothing.
Right at the end is All-Kind-Of-Coffin.
Hes at it all day, making boxes galore.
Theyre stacked in his window, half out of his door.
And not just the carpenter, family too.
His ten-year-old sons a dab hand with the glue.
His wife draws the dragons adorning the sides.
His daughter puts oil on the face-panel slides.
Theyre not short of customers, poor or elite.
The shops really grand at the end of my street.
So have you guessed whats true, my friends,
and whats my only lie?
If guessing still, I doubt you will
guess before you die.
(The Coffin Shop, your final call,
the place you lie your bone,
is not the last shop on my street -
its twixt the Ring and Phone.)
28 September 2006