A Memorial

I might have said she smells of fish or garlic,
Or that she has beady eyes. I have the choice,
You know. The writer gets the final laugh.
The woman will be gone in time, but his
Description, fair or not, will last. What
Should I say of she who turned from me
Without a word? I'll call her gray, a mousy
Thing, and dull, and she is dolorous. She
Cannot seem to find the sun, though I,
Described heroically, had brought it to her
In my hands, and said that we could share it
If she'd also take the hands. I've said already
She refused, so, now, I leave a final token for
The one who wounded me. Melissa's been
Immortalized, but at a pretty price.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 19 times
Written on 2011-03-19 at 13:54

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text