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A Narrow Fellow on the Glass
by David HillAcid pelts the Business Park,
rust rushes the gutter;
ever spiraling echoes to my ears.
Oxymoron here.
No child flies a kite, or feeds a duck,
buildings unimagined,
but for barren autumn acres.
Mantis on a pane,
cruel angles and bends
a yellow secretion.
Head of three sides,
beast, but for size.
Eyes, compound and vacant,
I touch my finger to glass.
Sea green thunder clap,
I flinch while she remains
expressionless.
Empty hands in prayer,
in full anticipation
the coming winter,
the still of nothingness.
11/18/2005 Posted on 11/18/2005
Copyright © 2025 David Hill
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 07/09/06 at 02:25 AM Most excellent! I am always mesmerized by the mantis and you describe it so well. She is busy, busy, laying her most interesting egg cases before winter sets in. I love to find them stuck securely to various parts of our garden. The last stanza is very good. |
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