House, Chicken: A Love Poem

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106 words
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for Barbara

In an old house, the walls
all shy away from plumb
ashamed of plaster worn too long
in unfashionable colors
shot with little river cracks,
like a lake bed in dull sun.

Such is the state
of my ramshackle lust:
A home I fear she would not share
even if the plumbing didn't run
erratically, pipes pounding
in their rhythm of age and desperation.

I am old—a stringy old cock
of feeble crow and broken spur
and thoughtless, clumsy tongue and fingers.
But now I start a steady beat for her
of new-germed, neonatal blood:
Fine, fine capillary net. On yolk of god.


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4 Comments
annaswirlsannaswirlsabout 15 years ago
so glad

to have found you oh wonderful writer. Please, more!

(okay I am going off to read all of your other poems now)

miss_trustmiss_trustabout 15 years ago
wow

that's it, just wow - so real - thank you.

miss_trustmiss_trustabout 15 years ago
wow

that's it... wow... thank you - so real.

WickedEveWickedEveabout 15 years ago
~

A great poem. No doubt that this is a fresh read. I love the phrases you used in it. Just a really good poem!