Thursday, October 4, 2012

The Judgment Of Paris



Over the chest-high cinderblock border wall the laundry line sags with tops and towels.
In this city yard relic with rural, decrepit boughs waist-heavy with tits of green limes

 unbred women unrhythmically ill-choose words, convey nothing but craving and belch.
This is the watcher view.  In my hauteur, I am unwitnessed and splendid.
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6 comments:

  1. R. Burnett BakerOctober 5, 2012 at 5:29 AM

    This poem captures the irony of perception: The unsettling sameness beyond self-absorption ..... This begs to be read over and again.....

    ReplyDelete
  2. TrulyfoolOctober 5, 2012 at 9:35 AM

    Rick,

    Thank you for your readership! It gets lonely here by the wall simply observing.

    TF

    ReplyDelete
  3. BerowneOctober 5, 2012 at 11:37 AM

    Trulyfool: "It gets lonely here by the wall."
    Especially if it's a chest-high cinderblock border wall. :-)

    ReplyDelete
  4. TrulyfoolOctober 5, 2012 at 10:11 PM

    Berowne,

    I've thought of heaving myself up using arm strength, but I have the hernia to worry about. Maybe after the doctor heals me?

    Trulyfool

    ReplyDelete
  5. Tess KincaidOctober 6, 2012 at 11:28 AM

    I hope I convey more than a crave and a belch...tits of green limes always help...

    ReplyDelete
  6. TrulyfoolOctober 7, 2012 at 7:28 PM

    Tess,

    Nothing but music.

    TFool

    ReplyDelete

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