Her white fur head band
with flecks
of red pollution dust.
Broken diamante phone
is a mirror where
she does up her face.
Insect machinery
shows up at edge.
Her inch long gold nails
window tapping
till she turns
and looks back hard;
eyes perplexer jellies.
The Camp Hill boys
with smooth wealth pallor
tick off mini-cruelties.
Sweating Chinese kid
from some long bad shift
goes along to sleep
with head to cold glass.
Where the magnolia
flowers cup up
now is here.
The perfume of a fierce turf; wonderful poem!
ReplyDeleteFrom one Turf Poet to another, I thank you.
ReplyDeleteThose mini-cruelties can be very unsettling,even on the best of days...Wonderful note again..
ReplyDeleteNow (good poetry) is here.
ReplyDeleteHow pleasant to escape from anthropological entomology into botanical ecstasy.
ReplyDeleteManik, Vassilis and Tom - Thank you.
ReplyDeleteIt's strange. No matter how many times I come across schoolboy viciousness on the bus it always throws me.
There are few shewings of botanical ecstasy as grand as the magnolia.