Monday, August 11, 2014

MONDAY'S POEM



Because she is a hundred and fifty feet tall
Boys never ask the Statue of Liberty to dance.
She is, then, surprised when a standing Buddha
Comes surfing into New York Harbor.
(Having perfect balance, every Buddha
Can surf wonderfully, even ones
Made of stone) and suggests that, after dinner
(Which he has brought with him in a basket
Strapped to his board), they go dancing.
He is one hundred sixty feet and some inches tall
(You could look it up); her head nestles comfortably
On his smooth granite shoulder. In the morning
The harbor police haven’t the heart to wake her
As she sleeps, her head in the Buddha’s lap.

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