Abandoned Fair
Our love is an abandoned fair:
the lights all broken on the midway,
some glitter still hung in the air.
We strolled like kids. We weren’t aware.
Our love is an abandoned fair:
the lights all broken on the midway,
some glitter still hung in the air.
We strolled like kids. We weren’t aware.
Yesterday my husband bought a Lincoln Town Car.
As we were driving to pick it up he said how it was once
the longest car in America. Sometimes I don’t have to imagine
what he’ll be like when he’s old.
The Great Wall of China couldn’t hold back
every invader, or angle of attack:
the forces of the Mongol khaganate
galloped around it; others used the gate.
Time is not reading the poem as you
read the poem, but rest assured he’s slipped
inside the room in his soft, polished shoes,
with his little cough, his bowler hat in hand,
so sorry to disturb.
Last week a woman sued Kraft
claiming it takes longer to microwave
their mac n cheese than advertised.
She’s in a hurry, so much to get done.
At the rink, they whoosh, these little bundled
Beings, their scarves graffitiing the air
My daughter weaving among them, her long legs
Pumping, the bright pink kitty earmuffs, a blur