Gray Britain, I'll miss you in a sense-- With your particular potted flowers The color of a very drunken and vivid dusk, Which dangle from snail-stuck rails--
Your trees, like your awkward anxiety, Their trunks as wild as bitten pen caps And wet-wrung silk stockings on the line, Fluttering their veined hands, for all the world Like just-kissed drag queens in the powder room, Looking for scraps of metallic blue lipstick-- Your bleeding hearts on the ashen High Street, All ugly and marigold, obscurely Luton, Or a Man-U and Arsenal, porous and bloody fuchsia-- The endless golf course of you, waiting Supine under the violet rain for a thunder Which also smells of smokey sea & wisteria. There is none of you freely imported In my flashy trademark of a country, Or only a little bit, in corners: When and where your fields lie fallow Like mine between orchestrated walls of appletrees Where livestock sing like mealy pink sausages-- Or on a very opaque morning in New England When a midsummer Nor'easter tiptoes up huskily On a very little girl eating a strawberry popsicle. -- __________________________________________________________ Sign-up for your own FREE Personalized E-mail at Mail.com http://www.mail.com/?sr=signup CareerBuilder.com has over 400,000 jobs. Be smarter about your job search http://corp.mail.com/careers _______________________________________________ Five7Five mailing list [EMAIL PROTECTED] http://www.pairlist.net/mailman/listinfo/five7five
