Cracked statue on a stool
I am, static,
cold and coarse --
granite effigy of a man
breaking up as a holy smile
plays over split lips
like I know something
my compatriots do not.
But they likely know
in their own way
of the delight in reading, reviewing
people in passing --
their tourist's eyes fighting
in chorus,
the bitter breeze,
the insistent sun.
They likely know
of ham and Swiss cheese
on very French bread
and slurpy sips of sweet
velvet coffee in a white paper cup.
They likely know.
-jkh
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1 comment:
Several things jump out at me in this poem: Coffee, french bread, ham and cheese. All of it wrapped in prose to sophisticated for me to understand. It must be a good poem. I say thumbs up.
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