Wednesday, April 4, 2012

From Bucolics

O boss of ashes boss of dust
you bother with what floats above
my chimney what settles to the ground
you wake the motes from sleep you make
them curtsey in a ray of sun
they hold their tiny breath as if
they're waiting for the little name
of the dance that's coming next then they
will take their places Boss if I
were smaller I would join them O
I'd cut a rug or two I'd slap
my hand against my shoe if that's
the kind of fuss you're raising Boss
you know I never know for sure
I only know you bother me
from time to time you've caught my breath
a time or two you've stirred me up
before which makes me want to tell
you Boss I wouldn't mind it if
you bothered me a little more

--Maurice Manning

1 comment:

Lisa B. said...

What is this anthology you're working on? I'm way interested in it, if this is the kind of thing that's in it. (which is to say: love this.)

(word verif: laturgyu keled--that first "word" particularly relevant?)