Saturday, October 1, 2016

’36 FORD COUPE/Alan Britt

      Charné, or was it chardonnay?

Amber drops between smiles,
amber drops dribble freshly glossed lips,
amber drops.

Chanel umbrellas, waists of poppies,
calves & the impeccable geometry of thighs
perched before a judge,
judge mulling his way
through some quasi-partnership with local prisons.


Flat black ’36 Ford coupe,
caught between Martin Escher’s staircase to nowhere
& Michael Parke’s steps into the ether
chasing the bubble of daily existence.

Flat black ’36 Ford coupe
perches like a giant crow,
crow towering above his raven cousin,
perches like an elegant crow
in a mid-1930’s cockpit,
not quite what we expected,
yet, sentimentally refined.

No comments:

Post a Comment