Monday, December 28, 2009

Boxing Day Poem

Christmas brought me pestilence
and in the delousing I found, I
confess it, a primate pleasure.

It is sweet time spent
in childhood hair--its rows
of finitude. All ends.

Nitpick is not without its
recompense. Comb-scoured scalps
can make of new years open

fields. In one--petite beasts
who lurk, cling, and feed are sure.
Among them, I am animal again.

No comments: