Sunday, December 3, 2006

Forecast

Would you, raised by wolves,
Howl at the moon
On a clear, snow-bound night?

Living in a yard of weeds,
Down a well, wearing
A dog fur coat.

This is the same well
Jesus fell into, the one
The bum wearing socks on

His hands sleeps in at night.
The streets are as quiet
As an empty nursery.

The townspeople have
Closed their windows.
Huddling in evening wear,

Waiting for the power to
Come back on,
Their red roses are covered

With the sheets
They haven't washed since
Their honeymoon.

No comments: