A woman’s dress blown from the line
And taking its first steps toward the prison.
Shaky steps, but she’s light on her feet.
One must imagine beautiful legs
To reflect the eclipse of the guard
Peering defensively in front of the searchlight.
Better still, one can create memories
Of wanton love to make her hollow.
Why else is she pressing herself against the fence
As if longing for someone inside?
Now the wind is lifting her over
The prison yard. The sky is blue.
Not even the old tailor in the laundry
With the pinup hidden in his sleeve
Thinks to look up her dress as she passes by.
No comments:
Post a Comment