in the crisper
that oubliette for
vegetables
lies a secret
it is black
many shades of black
licorice
creosote
treacle
depression
midnight
in the centre so
black it is almost white
it is mysteriously
connected
to the cairn we
built on Black Mountain,
to mark the times
we’ve been to the very top,
that we call
Bunbury’s Grave
after
the non-existent character in The Importance of Being Earnest
one
day, not too soon,
we
may remember
that
we put it there
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