Friday, December 19, 2014

ORPHAN

MY LITTLE OLD NEIGHBOR LADY
WHOSE PRUNE OF A FACE
WHEN I AM NOT WEARING GLASSES
IS AS LOVELY AS A PRIMROSE,
WATERS THE FAKE FLOWERS ON HER PORCH
EVERY MORNING AT EIGHT, SOAKING
A COLORFUL ARRAY OF PLASTIC, WIRE, AND SILK
WITH SHOWERS FROM AN ANCIENT
COPPER SPRINKLER CAN. HER FREE HAND
OCCASIONALLY CARESSES FLOWER OR LEAF,
OR SHOOS AWAY BUGS.
SHE SINGS, SWEETLY AND SOFTLY,
WHAT SEEMS A LULLABY; BUT IF I GO
CLOSE ENOUGH TO HEAR THE WORDS,
SHE STOPS, AND LOOKS DAGGERS AT ME.
THEY SAY SHE
BUTCHERED HER PARENTS WHEN SHE WAS TWELVE.

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A SELF UNSHARED SHRIVELS.