|
|
after the phalanx
the shields have borne soldiers forborne
the stilled laughing of their cohorts minxes
the cities laughing
after all the Languedoc doctors and all the
fish physicians
have come and gone
and all the platters have been
spun
there comes a time the time of
sparkle and cork and
crudités
there now I've said it in French
it forbears the soupçon of a ladle
but plunges in face-first
©2000 - 2022, Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors. Visit My Home Page | Start Your Own Poetry Site | PoetryPoem [ Control Panel ] [ Today's Poetry - ALL Poets ] [ Search ]
| |
|
|