Who was that tapping at the window?
Pain like bolts in her curled fingers
Arthritic yes, but betraying perhaps
A past, more delightful, yes light
Full life, lived through a domino
Display of opening doors,
And years of tipped hats and applause,
Giving her the strong back of the
Perennially loved, and eyes still
Fired to flirt even down two generations
And we flirt back, we boys, to her at least
But men to all others this side of the window
Their backs turned and already beginning to curl.
No comments:
Post a Comment