Wednesday, November 19, 2014

At the intersection

Jack was counting commas in a Villa poem,
until he jotted thirty in his airy head.
He was just a short walk away from dear Jill’s home,
when the taxi beat the red light and dragged him dead.

If only Jack stopped at the very first period,
then he may not have been laid to his early rest,
here where traffic lights are not as commands followed,
but rather dismissed as weak and casual requests.

Note: In a way, this was inspired by Denise Levertov's poem "Poet Power."

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