Hooray for Poetry Friday! I'm in this week with an original which was written in a tenuous state of good humor.
"March 28"
I skulk like Dostoevsky in
a stale brown coat.
Keys and red pens and oboe reeds clink
on denim thigh.
Inside, strappy sandals, Swedish soles
dance in their box.
Outside, snow grovels in hairy spikes
over the lawns
up the roofs,
clawing.
Inside, new toes in "All Laquered Up"
sulk in black socks.
Inside my ear Ian whispers of
Edinburgh winds
and colder-hearted Scots with knives
and alibis.
It's March. The Twenty-Eighth. In the
Upper Midwest.
In Smalltown.
Outside.
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Photo from the OPI website in honor of the first (and wasted) pedicure of the year.
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20 comments:
Points for originality!
Ooooo... Smalltown in March, when you return from spring break to find snow still crusted everywhere and the wind still blowing ice.
You capture it perfectly.
Marvelous! More, please.
How well you remember it, Jennie :)
Thanks, Jama and LW.
I love this! Is it wasted, though, if you know it's there? Hidden sunshine?
Poor bright toesies ready to dance... but no! Oh dear.
Lovely poem from such tragedy though.
Which Scottish story is Ian whispering in your ear?
Hon, I haven't even bothered shaving yet, much less trying a pedicure. You have the right spirit, anyway...
True, Becky. A pedicure is like a taste of spring even if hidden.
Thanks, Cloudscome :)
Tanita: Ian Rankin often whispers in my ear when walking. Right now I'm listening to "Set in Darkness." As for shaving...I knew I wanted sandals, so I knew I wanted a pedicure, and, you know, one thing leads to another...
Fan-freakin'-tabulous, Kelly. I am wowed, Ms. Dostoevsky. And sorry that all is still cold and shrieky in Iowa.
That's okay, Kelly. It will go away soon, won't it?
Thanks for the wow :)
That's it, Kelly. Double-barrel winter with a pedicure AND a kicking poem.
I used to do my toes in a shade called Thrill.
Totally, Sara. Ka-POW! Take that, winter. (Seems to have worked--we're up to about 45 degrees and that evil snow is melting.)
Love reading originals!
Great poem! Winter will end soon. It must!
All right, Kelly! Dig that Dostoevsky coat.
We're all so ready for spring, aren't we?
Thanks, Chris and Cole Mine!
Susan, you know things are at their end when Dostoevsky comes into the picture. (I really loathe him, I hate to say. Whenever I'm wearing a dirty coat with ripped lining, though, I think of him.)
"new toes in "All Laquered Up"
sulk in black socks."
Love that. I too have sulky toes right now, and snow.
Oh, honey. Hope the thaw comes quick...
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