VICTORIA PARK COLLAGE
The foghorn moans like a taken virgin
I'm here
sitting on a bench
facing Rochester
wondering
where that old man is
I saw here last year
the one whose ragged pockets
contained long-gone tales like lint and dust
Like a serpent the fog steals up the beach
a threat between its teeth
The sounds of somersaulting
sand-throwing children
bounce off the blue-bell waves into the trees
like a happy plague of bees
Hey Bobby: Bobby!
Mom! Mom! Billy Just.
Mom! Mom!
Look at me mom!
MOM! LOOK!!
The fog is harmless
Sandburg knew that
I should have remembered
From the water-works
to the coal-coated piers
like a beautiful necklace
the lovers murmur their private psalms
their eyes happy
as children on swings
The foghorn moans like a taken virgin
Then there are the freaks
stoned
scattered
on the green-wave knolls like autumn leaves
They all have an excuse
each one different
each one sufficient
The wind is perched waiting in the trees for unaware children
The lighthouse like a messiah draped in a toga
of white-washed metal
stands gathering waves
around its concrete knees
I am sure the gulls are parables
Near the shoreline waves curl around splinters of sun
No one here knows
I am engraving their faces
in a Book of Earth
Even if they did
they wouldn't care
And besides
I would have it no other way
The foghorn moans like a taken virgin
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment