Lachrymose
    by Douglas Gilbert

Hurrying away from a shiver
she made me feel so cold in insults,
frigid when I rested morose in a sulk

Lying on ice is a chilly bump.

I’m warm when I’m walking
though a storm is stalking, but if
I rest a moment I’ll be cold

Lachrymose skies hover
since she threw me out cold
without my umbrella or razor

A storm is stalking me in her name;
I have no umbrella for shame, no

it’s a shame she never knew me
never knew how poor I was
how rich

I gave her all the grandiose she wanted:
the sunrise, the sunset, the expensive flowers
but she could not embrace a pauper who
might write a frozen poem to be
intentionally defrosted and served
growing lachrymal joy and flowers afield

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s