9/2
St. Freakin Francis
Bless this
kneeling fawn, this
swooning putti, this
irascible gnome.
O sad-eyed concrete saint,
your paint-pitted piety
still moves. Your
mournful gaze graces a
chemically perfect lawn
with infinite compassion.
O San Francisco pray
for this marooned Big Wheel,
this mylar pinwheel,
this calico sentinel.
The landscape abides.
The sprinkler ticks.
The azalea rests in
its cedar chip bed.
Pax vobiscum.
No comments:
Post a Comment