White on White

Nip of winter
when the cabbies are all sober
sob against squeaky vinyl
violets thrown when daisies are gone
golf balls shot into clarity

Clang of the winch
when the caddies are all pall-bearers
bury me under the Burnet flag
flasks raised to the memory
mesquite, packed sand, the sun a worn dime

Dim flash of the wanton
when curry powder is all that’s left
listless stained fingertips in a teaspoon
tip the pan, lament rhubarb
ricochet biscuits fly at your head

Honey on the wind
why calliopes won’t play all day
due to a dude in a suit you assume
asleep and snoring on a roof somewhere
someone tied a shoe to the telephone wire at night

The End

2 comments about this poem Feed