Like a Hot Knife Through Butter

The concrete trumps whatever splendid,
Sublime, or aesthetic thoughts. This day
Is fine, the best of autumn. Leaves
In all directions mutate, almost as I watch,
From green to red or yellow, and the sun
Is bright and warm. The polls suggest
The monster in the White House will be
Shown the door, and cheeseburgers
Are on the menu. All was most agreeable...
Until my foot began to ache most
Horribly without a reason. Now, I can
Just barely walk, and every other thought
I'd had, at any level of abstraction, seems
To have evaporated in the face of what is
Concrete: this unending pain.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 34 times
Written on 2020-10-11 at 00:45

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