Monday, May 18, 2015


The fog enveloped me and wrote an address
But the letters ran and eluded all efforts
To capture them, scattering down the alleys
And up the shaded oops. I'd have been returned
Marked "undeliverable," save for my mother who,
Not knowing much about me, charitably saw
To my deliverance, on a spring day, five minutes
Before the circus, just across the street,
Began its afternoon show. What better music
For an entrance than a steam calliope
Roaring out "March of the Gladiators?"

No comments:

Post a Comment