Sunday, September 9, 2012

Bloody Old Sun





They sit in a squat
split-level, 
he and she
and three
boys,
disengaged.

A split-level,
one of many,
one of too many,
squatting,
not
far from a shore,
disengaged.

He's the dentist,
a bore.

She likes TV.

"Shush!
I'm trying to watch
tee VEE!"

Blonde, his
hairline ceding 
to skin,
hair as flimsy 
as his gait.

Brunette,
her lumbering eyes as flat as Spanish
rust.

A shot in the dark,
a pitch in the 
pitch, bottles clanking like
lucky coins.

The boys, 
all three:
squint-eyed, 
curly copper,
speckled like the Milky Way,
smirking.

The milkman: 
squint-eyed, 
curly copper,
speckled like the Milky Way,
smirking.

Bloody old sun,
sullen oaken sultan,
drenching the sky
(alabaster like salt
water taffy):
bloody old sun,
art thou 
bloody well done?