Arsenic Lobster
poetry journal |
Issue Fifteen Winter 2007 |
|
They Who Walk Upright Claudia Burbank You kept your own sad lists, the ochre chipped Geology of one. And didn’t all that ozone weigh a ton? Still the mail comes with its catalogs and come-ons. So much for strenuous dental hygiene, fish oil, Bach. The clock will go to your skulking nephew, the one With the hairy back, who’ll turn around And sell it for a hit. Your sister, when she hears News of your demise, will abscond with the Bakelite she claims Should have come to her, last of the viviparous bipeds. |
|
About Claudia Burbank |