Collected in poems whats
decorative which is odd
a sad iron pressed against
her forehead happy hands
waving goodbye to white
wrinkled blouses the lacy
lazy lives long now lost.
Sad too the turtle backs
stacked in a bowl as if
for a crab feed bottles
of quality wine carried
home in a grocery cart.
Ages and ages hence
consigned to collections
of periodicals we used
to play bingo at church
prayed to Jesus a good
card to win the catch.
Portrait of a lady
sitting beneath
a covey of chandeliers
her antique back
stiff and brittle with age.
The skeleton
of a barber chair
a retired fisherman
walking along a quay
a homemade boat
in the distance.
And in the rooms
above the shops
full of Chantilly lace
champaign and chagrin
we pause and pose
hoping to be collected
and not thrown out
as odd as we be old.
The Coming of the Toads 