Wednesday, April 18, 2012
by Alice D’Alessio
Mostly a foul weather friend
my muse vacations in the warmth
and sun, stretches, yawns and naps;
strolls languid along the pebbled paths
inspects a heavy-headed hibiscus
samples a ripe peach.
Vainly I plead, bribe, flatter.
She raises indolent fingers to her lips
smiling that enigmatic smile.
Sorry, she murmurs,
I need some howling winds
to stir my blood; some angst and deprivation.
Just slip a randy lover through the door
to fire my pulses; we'll grapple on the hearthrug
by the flickering coals, and he'll inflame –
and he'll abandon.
Then play some Mahler for me to weep by;
sop me with bitter tea, and brandy, neat.
You want a haunting epic, rich
with many-layered meaning?
Call when November drizzle
rends my heart.
~ first published in Free Verse