Crank

Truly, I've had enough of Nebraska,
Of peasants and get-along drones
From the suburbs. I wish I could
Find a salon to join, a group of
Great artists, perhaps in Provence,
Who'd be witty and well-read,
And sophisticated. We'd trade
Subtle in-jokes and show our
New works to each other, and all
Would know what we'd achieved.
Then again, I am prickly, and
All-too suspicious of self -conscious
Members of the avant-garde.
I would turn away quickly from
Any salon, being clearly the bumpkin,
The autodidact. In the end, in my
Sadness, I'd fly from Provence
To the vacuum of Omaha, to my
True home, a Whitman or Ryder,
Or Poe, one more crank, to
The side of the road, to the fence
By a field, to produce what nobody
Will see.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 68 times
Written on 2017-04-04 at 00:57

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