VISIONS OF VENICE
We trudged along
a mélange of people
skinny elbows nested
with women boasting breasts
everyone exhaling garlic and gum.
The bulbous rump of the
pretty girl behind me
couched my lower back
like a cradle to and fro.
A six foot something bald man
with a wrinkleless face
the silver rail above,
Buried in his sweat of stale cologne
and beer, a lager of some sort.
A whiff of egg flew by…hmmm
someone passed their wind my way
Visions of Venice boiled
in my now nauseated belly.
The crowds pressed hard
the flow of oxygen rigid
I gasped for air.
At last the rusty rail doors creaked
the oven roasted people stampeded
through the stickiness.
And I too flew with bladder full…to view
Dare I contrive pictures not spoken
to sneak through spirits forsaken
beyond where doth settles his small ousted heart.
Bewildered with blather, fiendish and cruel
knoweth not he, her reasons for love to part.
Like brown wood walls forbidding the chill,
he wanders down whys and wonders them still.
Thus slides the silence on fresh polished floors
languished and waiting for Christmas to show
when she would step forth the darkest of doors.
Flieth away on her heart he would heave
sealed by a boastful snidely of fate.
Hence out from the dingy dark uttering soft sighs
gazing for first his own mother’s eyes.
Causes Karen Devaney Supports
Eve Ensler and any organization that deals with issues supporting women and children and the advancement of their education.