Poetry

mothermerrymagiccarpetride

(For Charles Bukowski, Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost and E. E. Cummings. On a more personal note, for Mike and Denise.)

mothermerrymagiccarpetride

on green
she moves
in too-heeled shoes,
relieved to feel the earth’s
velvet cushion,
but it’s still too
soon
to tell if
she’s in heaven
or hell,
and then she’s
back on the asphalt trail—
a hellish place
her feet know
so well,
and the well-worn
look of scorn
crosses her face
once more

until she arrives
at a second-hand place
and avails herself of
another’s goodwill
and good…tennissneakers.

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