The sedan, its sound system at medium-high volume catching the diamond tosses and pearl droplets of Donizetti bel canto, stops before a business intersection at a long light.
Across the way, dressed in a long smock, wearing a rubbery tiara spiked like the Statue of Liberty, dances a bearded man waving a sign promising 50 dollars if we do your taxes. Boogaloo, his 50-year-old lip twist seems to say. Get with the rhythm, gesture his fingers and fists.
His highs hit Donizetti highs
His hip-pivots, orchestral swoops.
Hi TrulyFool, thank you for commenting in my blog. I was looking for your poem here on the link that you posted on Poetry Pantry and didn't find any?? Wondering if I somehow missed it?
ReplyDeleteYour Greta Matassa cut brought down the house--what talent. Thanks for posting. (And I'm liking your twenty first century prose vignettes of the surreal as well.)
ReplyDeleteMary,
ReplyDeleteMy pleasure visiting yours!
As to the link, I'll have to retrace my steps?
I added P United to my view-blogs, but in going there, I'm arm-wrestled by the plethora of options.
For now, of course, you're welcome to ferret through whatever on my blog may please. There are several poems over the past months.
Trulyfool
Joy,
ReplyDeleteMy yet-farther-away-from-verse entries must be my subconscious stretching neglected muscles and relaxing overused ones.
Thanks for liking them. (Surreal is my breakfast).
As to Greta M, she's been based locally in Seattle for quite some time, and I've followed her work over the years. I agree; she's very talented. Actually has a 'gig' coming up in a few weeks just a short walking distance from where I work.
Check her out!
Trulyf