Inspired by the bravest woman in Lagoa

Quarter for the Fleet

It had been one of those enervating days,
when officialdom and red tape paperwork
had sucked the yolk and marrow leaving only
a dullness that yawed the ghost ship of her frame.

She decided not to cook, as much as
payback for her ordeal by proper channels.
And so to the "Toilet Bar", cafe of choice
for malicious villagers, though rarely women.

The men folk hardly stared upon her entrance,
by now they knew those leopard skin boots,
that packed a wallop they grudgingly took
stock of, then returned to their cheese and wine.

This was her quarter of salt cod with cream,
prepared by owner Paula and daughter Carolina,
the only other women tolerated amongst the chairs,
that smelled of tar and testosterone.

Lacking collars three tumbled to the stony street,
drunken mechanic, one armed plumber, peg-legged sailor,
the kerfuffle amusing her, their wicked aunt,
another Lagoan night that shimmered out to sea.

Poetry by Brian Oarr
Read 462 times
Written on 2012-02-17 at 05:25

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

Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
I'm with Jim. This is a very strange, but good, poem. I greatly enjoyed it.

I feel like I've just read a vision from another planet. Rich images here, indeed. It makes me feel very provincial. Which I am.