Friday, January 17, 2014

Garden Party (Poem 290)

And, this afternoon, when 
the bleached sun is burnished gold, 
all the wrong people will gather 
to forage in the garden, like squirrels, 
for old chestnuts of simplicity, and 
the bitter acorns from which resilience 
springs. Predictably, they will come up 
empty-handed and stand, mumbling, 
in groups of three and four 
before retiring to an elegant pergola,
like so many overripe summer 
fruits piled into a sticky brass bowl 
in a sunny spot.

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

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