Behind the Bushes

Coleen, we can pretend to be
What we are not when we are
Here. All those sober disapprovers,
Suited drones, who sidle close
To say we'd better watch our
Steps, are at their desks and
Dozing now. The moralists
Have trained their eyes on
Women who are bold enough
To strut in clingy clothes.
Let's stay naked! They won't
Know, and let us hatch
Conspiracies to overthrow
The avaricious, prying from
Their dying hands the money
We could use to kindle fires
In eyes of all the others who
Have suffered so; and, of course,
We must do this: proclaim
Our fresh new love supreme.
With it, in it, we are happy here,
And, though we will descend, in time,
Into the lives which, hitherto, have
Crushed our joy, we can claim we're
Still aloft, and then pretend to be.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 18 times
Written on 2011-08-25 at 13:52

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