Sunnyvale

Nobody here in this bar full of drones,
Engineers and accountants, would get
The connection if I rushed to Lena and
Reached for her hand, and kissed it
Before she could get through the door.
Rocinante, come carry us off to the
Plains. Let her learn my intentions
Atop you, and let her believe, as I do,
As do you and poor Sancho, in chivalry.
It still exists. She could see, but she looks
At me stupidly, staggers away, and I
Lead Rocinante, and Sancho, and
Chivalry quietly back to my three
Rented rooms. We will have one
More cocktail and hail what has
Gone, and go blank for the night
In this city of suburbs, which hums
Like a motor, a passionless thing,
To the droning of all of these drones.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 28 times
Written on 2013-08-28 at 01:15

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