A man pulls an orange cat
In a wagon along the curb.
Garbage is their grocery and as they depart
The courtyards and dumpsters the orange cat
Meows a poem about a calf
And a crippled peasant who walk
Slowly through the autumn mist
That hides the dwellings of the poor.
And as they go, the man adds his verse
About a ring and a broken heart.
Autumn, autumn,
Summer has gone.
Two silhouettes
Pass in the mist.
--Stuart Dischell
2 comments:
The more I read his poems the more I like them. Thanks, YOU!
Yeah, me too. They're fun, often simple, and have a kind of vulnerability at times.
You're welcome.
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