| Ode to the muse |
|
| Aurora1,
the one |
| I've decided to
want in my crisis, |
| as if there were
choices |
| my youth each year
more compromised |
| You stand there,
absorbed |
| in nothing much I
could fathom, |
| your lime-green dress, |
 |
| the forbidden fruit, |
| and flesh-colored hose |
| in intimate contact with |
| flesh-colored flesh so
distracting |
| while I contemplate |
| the waves of your hair |
| where I'd wish to have buried
my agonized face |
| for the rest of my
days |
| spilling over your
shoulders |
| while I
drift, |
| disappointingly
middle-aged |
| dangerously
graying |
| and my
troubles |
| too entirely my
own... |
|
| © Jon Bohrn
(1999) |
|
| 1Au·ro·ra
(ô-rôr¹e, ô-ror¹e, e-rôr¹e, e-ror¹e) noun |
| Roman Mythology. |
| The
goddess of the dawn. Not exactly a muse, but still worth a try asking for help in a
calamity. |
