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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3701 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention London & Other Cliches Laurie Byro She dragged you to the lakes or so you said. The air soft and cloying stripped the phone wires, made it drizzle in London. Light glittered off gold, the lakes bloomed turquoise. I couldn’t remember the color of your eyes. The bass glinted in the flash of her camera. Blood dripped off his scales. He shivered before he died. I shivered all night on a park bench. Squirrels nested in my hair. You will say it was the stars that dithered. I’m not that kind of poet. There's no romance in wooden beds. Smoky pubs made my eyes tear, I spent hours in Harrods buying fish net stockings. We are all whores to our husbands. I wouldn’t say April is cruel, nor you exactly. All lies are unaccountable in the dark. I go to church along with good Catholic girls. I cry when I see a crazy man talking with angels. I believe God is in all things, an apology at best. A substitute for poetry. I may choose to spend another night in the park and wait for you to appear. I need to know whether it is God, or a squirrel, the catechism in my ear. |
