Quite surreal really,
Buddhism classes in a pit village,
the monk outlining the philosophy of Anatman (There is no self)
me resisting the urge to ask him who it was
sitting there telling us this,
then dissuading him from going to the pub
in full robes.

Drink in hand, I moaned on about
electing a dictatorship every five years,
and how, when they
spat down our alley,
people stretched out their hands to catch the gob.

He recommended right-mindedness.
"When walking a stony path, put leather
on your feet, not on the world."
"Right-mindedness"The monk continued,
"Become like the peacock, peacocks can digest
poisonous plants, deadly to other birds."

Outside, ice darkened on stockpiled foreign coal.
That night I dreamt of peacocks,
in numbers so vast,
they proved impossible to count.

©Joe Fearn