Soggy Bottom

Folder: 
Vintage Words

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A holiday ode to sing while carousing
overly much at the pub or local bar.
I sing the rain in winter, stumble on
a dreamed of courtship equaling
my best imagined lover.

 

“Why does the room move in circles?”
I asked the walls. “Why is traffic
moving backwards?” I asked the view
from wet cobblestones.

 

It’s like this. Hoping for numbness
or a bit of happiness, the world
spins and those darn feet that once
danced so well, find the curb
that was not there upon entry
as raindrops cover the tip of pointed
toe shoes.

 

Knees waterlogged, backside
embarrassed, the stockings in rags
drip silkenly toward home, any home,
where anybody lives will serve.


allets
11-23-12
11a

 

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