- Non-Erotic Poetry
- The Crutch
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suspicions of misplaced virility,
my interpretations are self-inflicted.
When the mind is absent
and an old crutch won't do the job
one looks in Manzanita bush
for the proper angled support,
but avoids summer poison oak.
by A.N.
I have never tasted the drupe
of this evergreen you lean upon,
nor have I felt the itch of poison.
Mother and I pull vines
with gentle tugs for root extraction
without glove or long sleeve.
We laugh at the ivy’s vain attempt
at self protection.
We are immune.
It runs in the blood of the Schultzes
along with a dimpled chin
and knobby knees.
In the oil can with broken crutches, newsprint
and dry milk boxes, we burn the vines with five leaves.
On the puffs of smoke, we read imaginary signals
sent to lovers lost, late, or never arrived.
They all say the same thing.
Your interpretations are self-inflicted.
- COMMENTS
cymryover 18 years ago"Your interpretations are self-inflicted"
Short build to the last line but packed with vivid images.
Anonymousover 18 years agoI especially loved this line:
In the oil can with broken crutches, newsprint
and dry milk boxes, we burn the vines with five leaves.
Great imagry!
Curiouswife
Maria2394over 18 years agothe first three lines are magical. I love the way the words feel in my head. I enjoy your looks inward and reflections outward, on life and earth. thanks for this one :)
