(A parchment or the like from which writing has been partially or completely erased to make room for another text).
They chanced upon it in the archive
while it was shedding its skin –
morphing into another message.
They cornered it and caged it
and now they have the only live
palimpsest in captivity.
They thought of selling it, but to whom?
Poets are fond of palimpsests,
but they have no money.
A zoo? A library?
Can you breed palimpsests?
On a photocopier?
Perhaps they’re like pandas
whose ‘window of opportunity’
is only a couple of days a year.
Difficult.
The palimpsest didn’t take to captivity.
It prowled its cage relentlessly.
They offered it a variety of texts
but, with an illiterate growl,
it refused them all.
Then it began to fade.
They could see a life being erased.
So they set it free,
released it back into the wild.
It vanished into a filing cabinet
blending in like a lexical chameleon.
People said
it was better that way.
People always say that.
Bruce Greenhalgh lives in Adelaide, South Australia where he reads, writes and occasionally recites poetry. His work has appeared in various publications including Rue Scribe in 2022. His other pastimes include collecting minor sporting injuries, noting the misuse of apostrophes and procrastinating.