Excerpts from The Willow Howl
So much depended on that eager
Moment, that outdoor moonshine time.
A picnic basket held limes
And wine and the thickest Florida
Prime rib. No pie, no cake.
The man and lady were shaking
Cutely like kettles, touching their
Elbows, tilting their heads.
They were gentle people with calm
Ideas, lovers of shooting stars.
The red wine, the green limes, the
Noises of the night echoing like gongs
On trees, gongs on trees, gongs on trees.
Hailing A Taxi
She wore many bracelets, each
Was a noodle on her wrist, she
Wore a shirt with a pocket and
It had lovely designs on it, quite
Odd for an executive, a pacifist,
Tall anti-war girl, a woman dis-
Tressed with global warming.
The corridors echoed with the
Ping of her heels as she said bye,
Bye, take care, to the mealy-
Mouthed man and walked out
Of the building, hailing a taxi,
The driver puffed his smoke out
The rolled-down window, saying
He didn’t care much for heavy
Snowy winters, much less driving
Small iron lamp,
Two children idle
In the doorway, soup
On the table and milk
In fat cups.
He yells to her over
Big bank of hills and
Sees nothing but blunt
Brown banks and a snake
She hears Tom and from
Her ledge moves a little,
Sees the river and some grass.
He strains and pivots, parting
The grass. She remains still
And pale, swallows some air,
As she sees him climb over
The flow of the river where
The rocks lay. He won’t stay
Long, he has to get back.
Copyright © 2017 Lisa Brognano
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.
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