No Pearl

I'd be this way if I was sent to heaven:
Vaguely out of sorts. The oyster needs
Its grain of sand, its irritant, to make a pearl.
Artists must be nagged by pain, but, in
Vienna, nothing's wrong. The food's delicious.
Buses come on time. The streets pass
Endless splendid buildings. No one's nasty.
Even here, inside this hotel, I'm ecstatic
Showering in water pressure far exceeding
What I bear when I'm at home. The woman
At the desk at night, so Austrian, so pale
And blonde, is lovelier than almost any woman
I ever have seen. I could lose my passport
And conclude my life here in Vienna, dogged
By only one regret: I'd never write again.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 64 times
Written on 2017-10-03 at 11:05

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