The Best Friends Are Replaceable

There’s a gecko on the ceiling

And I like to call him Fred.

That’s not his name, because

He is a gecko, so you could think of

One instead

If you want

Anyway, as I was saying

My fat-digited little friend

Likes to shimmy on the sideboard

On the plaster

As if he’s on a skateboard

Except faster,

And he skitters into corners

Across beams and window frames

And he’s quite absorbed in the activities

Of survival

So he doesn’t worry about names.

He’s an honest little fellow, hell he’s

Practically transparent

And he’s quick, just watch

His feet stick to

The TV and the wall.

He used to have a friend here

In the corner, call her

Cynthia

But she was too svelt and pretty:

Liked to sit in doorways preening

Till one day, pushed, careening,

The door swang home

And

Turned Cynthia

Into door-jam.

But I like to chill with Fred-

He’s pretty agile chap,

But if he happens to get tardy

And the door shuts with a CLAP

I’m almost certain that one day,

Perhaps hidden in the curtain,

I’ll find one of his brothers

Or his sisters

Or his mother

And she’ll come and

Play with me instead.

We’ll think up fine distractions

From the weeping and the grieving

O’er the dead.