China-doll lips painted purple or red
Purse then smile at personal queries.
Stanwood is way past blushing when he jokes:
Her eyes gave up the secret now instead,
Of cryptic characters, lustful, longing, leery.
Educators reincarnate, hand clippings out
To students who crave larger markets
For reworked stories: novels with pokes
At apes who have no place to park it,
Aces grounded with nothing to talk about.
A ribbon for a tie belies rage:
The fifties in Muskegon blew cold winds.
Then comes this young Poe-like bloke
Whose dreams are heavier than most sins.
And a flashy fish story from a simple age.
But what of war-survivors and of God
Now that writing is the last refuge?
What of the hills south of Roanoke,
Of women growing past their era’s lot,
Of maniacs with nothing left to lose?
Copyright, Doug Stuber, 1992. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.