Lovely Evening

The pattern of the worn-out Persian
Rug, the patches where the fabric's
Gone and netting's showing through,
Grow ever more significant. The
Cloying taste of rum and Coke,
The odd way dusk has come
Before the sun decides to end
The day, the ledger showing,
Surely, all your better poems
Have been written, coupled
With an admonition from the one
You chose to love: “Don't write;
I do not want to read,” which
Means, in fact, you shouldn't speak,
Accumulate, like jury ballots.
Guilty; here's the sentence: death.
Another drink; consider plans
To place yourself, no longer living,
On the pattern, on the worn-out
Patches of the rug.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 67 times
Written on 2015-10-06 at 01:07

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