Wednesday, October 10, 2012

"Sweeny", a poem

He cocks his head
at the still burning butt of his last cigarette
falling to the wet pavement.

A nap in the Panhandle
Is the ragged Napoleon’s
Privilege to dream,
a defense against the fog’s whispers
whirring through the mesh green above

it’s what the double-decker slowing to a crawl
gives as consolation to the Ohios,
Brit-Columbians, Med-terraneans
on this dragging detour through Fell.

No comments:

Post a Comment