METRO LACE

IV (continued)

May 12

Revise the nifty ending,

don't shed tears for those caught in the wringer

as laud we the gods

and others tuned to advantage

if only gray like the sky

or the curtains, the bedsheets.

This town is worth believing in,

tastes of roast chicken and spinach,

the hops at the party brimming over.

If you're not inclined to judgment

clasp her warm body, freshly bathed,

say it went down smooth and kept going.

We've no undertaking better, no courts

where piebald donkeys may bleat of peace

or deliberating conjurors debate DNA.

“This likes me not.”

And with that he flung his best raygun

into the deep lake, happy as a girl

gone a-Maying, and brightly lit

into the bargain.  If you would claim

this voice, harbor no hopes, let

deeds speak for dreams when at last

the monstrous child of sleep awakes.

We've arranged ourselves for leaving

and see in the gleam of the cat's eye

reason enough.  My, how fast

you've grown, how soon you overtake

your belated master, he still tending

the stunted eggplants and tomatoes,

hoping the spate of frost will depart

leaving his plot green as before.

Flying overhead come armed drones,

perhaps, but even if so, no charges accrue

and the dining room's dark wainscoting

shines with polish.  The feast's ready,

there may even be a bake sale,

though many are lacking

and dry throats thirst

for what one would never say

to her or to anyone else,

the Côtes du Rhône notwithstanding.

We've gathered together once again.

Let there be some charm in that.

©Donald Brown 2010/2013