Wednesday, September 29, 2010
your mother does not want you reading;
surreptitiously concealed within a palliasse'
resting in a shed behind the granary...
She leaves you with your lesson on sin. Heading
for her own redemptive leaching....the dusty road
filters towards my clothesline, the signal
a reading of palms and tarot is due.
Wiping my brow on an apron of wanting ....
I gather into it my lesson plan and a jar
of cool water -
knowing full well not all words
are created equal, but given time,
and proper instruction
can be plagiarized from all...
posted for Poetry Pantry, Poets United
and Potluck Monday, Jingle Poetry