THAT
CARNIVAL THING
The works
of man, woman,
beast of field
and barn yard
on display
at our local Food Fair
in plastic
wrapped tableau vivant
look good
enough to eat. Still,
I see no Renaissance
up ahead
no Enlightenment
with its bitchy
wit and powdered
wigs and do we really
need to
revisit the Age of Woodstock
with its
hygiene issues and bad hair
yet the
road beckons and some of its
attendant trees
are rather pretty
shadows
standing out in subtle relation
to their
forbearers and in which the new masses,
painted with
colorful tatts, lovingly pierced, have fun
smiles stretching
like a dancer on the subway. They party
at Carnival,
while the rest of us stay at home, immersed
in the
fourth episode of season three. Which is preferable
to an
encounter with some dread-locked desperado
who, on the
night bus, reads back to us
our own address
before saying, “Later, dude.” That’s
when all
you want from life is a cool, gray,
mediocre
morning in Berlin. Here’s what’s required—
take a
number. Submit the paperwork.
Patiently
await the results of clerical negligence.
Waiting is
easier now; waiting is rest.
Terrific verse and what a lovely (formally coherent but also beautiful) floral.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much, Casey. We both appreciate it.
ReplyDelete