Frank C. Praeger
The next compensates and the next.
Who ‘s whistling with or without teeth,
whose steamed greens can partially allay,
whose curried green tomatoes can be said
to cater to contentment?
So, minute particulars do tell.
A small breeze ruffles my hair,
curtains blown about,
Mary’s inability to mount,
a mix of satisfaction and pleasure
in eating early small budding sulphur shelves –
nor is a spectral glow,
a warbling euphony,
or racketing melange of elbows and kneecaps,
a distancing hello,
a transient haunting refrain,
a gesture that can’t be recalled.
As for the embossed anecdotal, maybe,
with brother, father following one another
in partially remembered, memorable lives.
Car bombs, obscenities
exchanged at each street corner,
walls of flame, then,
who would not be taken aback,
by each dereliction,
each unaffordable mishap.
©2012 This work is the property of the author.