by Charles Simic
Yellow feathers,
Is it true
You chirp to the cop
On the beat?
Desist. Turn your
Nervous gaze
At the open bathroom door
Where I'm soaping
My love's back
And putting my chin on her shoulder
So I can do the same for her
Breasts and crotch.
Sing. Flutter your wings
As if you were applauding,
Or I'll throw her black slip
Over your gilded cage.
-Charles Simic, Walking the Black Cat
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Entertaining the Canary
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