*Seasonal*
Sweet work in front of a mirror,
all the world behind in terror.
Neat work in thinnest shadow,
fall in the north, spring in the south.
Horses and jeeps, mired in snow,
balk or stall. Somewhere, a mouth
nurses open to create surprise,
clock in death a second time, lift
an eyelid. Harmless flirting eyes
summer in Puerto Rico, then shift.
Plan nothing, she thinks. Funereal
winter holds, an eye and window
frosted over. A blind sky's missile
landed here, a new season's show.
*Demise *
Tricia says, "Come see the absolutely
delicious harbinger exiting
from my mouth." "It's probably
from the pudding," says Mom,
"Come do your homework,
then you might go to the prom."
Daughter starts scribbling,
dark scowl across her brow,
slaughter in her mind. The bowl,
an ark, with a white prow
beached at her nostrils. Lost
lunch break. What sweet Louis
offers, she takes. With luck, that
bunch beneath the fire escape!
-- Jim
Sol Literary Magazine: http://solliterarymagazine.com/
The Salt River Review: http://www.poetserv.org
https://sites.google.com/site/jamesvcervantes/home
http://www.hamiltonstone.org/catalog.html#temporarymeaning
http://www.fieralingue.it/documenti/mr_bondo.pdf
http://www.flickr.com/photos/jamescervantes/
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