cool

her indignant loud blather
scrapes the sun-mottled sidewalk
her practised syllables rippling
through the shivering locust leaves

the hoarse female cigarette voice
accusatory rhythmical hard edged
slices the hapless rough lout
pushing the baby carriage
as she pulls the wagon of groceries

she pauses to bark at the universe

resumes the earnest litany
but we can no longer hear these
incantations of a faith we do not hold

she is entitled to her catechism
as are we to our private jokes
and simple satisfaction

we held our debates years ago
in private
now we smile and speculate on
how much we have yet to learn

(Visited 20 times, 1 visits today)
FavoriteLoadingAdd to favorites

About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *