Who's To Say
Cars pull in beside tombs and who should
Get out but the silhouettes of movie stars,
And soccer girls from high school,
And the night is so heady with their atmosphere that
It sways as if being tugged like a table cloth,
Like the sea by the moon:
And even the souls of the dying radiate like the flagella
Of maypoles,
And the water near the shore is so shallow that it brings
All together such wildlife in rapacious harmony;
And Amanda has been to Africa,
But I have seen the corpulent tortoise under the bus,
Tugging out the engine of orchids like a child who is
Not bashful,
And even though I leapt away like a little girl over the
Heads of the disinterested alligators,
Who’s to say now that I don’t care, or that I wont once
Again be beautiful,
Or that my mother isn’t weeping over the walky-talky
Because I am bivouacked so far up I diadem
You subconscious, and even though it is much too late for
Me- Who’s to say I won’t once again be beautiful.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Added by Poetry Lover
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