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Thursday is malathion night
by Lalo KikirikiUnder Maxfield Parrish skies
they make their Edward Hopper lives...
somebody's mothers...
someone's wives...
in pastel rooms,
with stifled cries.
The televisions's lilac glow
lulls them to languor as they drowse
among the pillows of each couch,
one arm around a favored child...
and while the dishes rinse themselves
they finish the dinner Chardonnay
each polished hand
each glowing glass
toasting the mercy
of middle class.
The neighbors spy
between the blinds
as helicopters sweep the stars,
circling above the perfect yards,
their bellies full of pesticides.
Each mother rises with a frown
to clamp the louver windows down,
shutting the candysweet perfume
of orange blossoms from the room.
The house relaxes;
the roar of blades
fades in the phosphorescent east
while dropping,
'like the gentle dew',
the poison seeps into the feast...
02/03/2008 Posted on 02/04/2008
Copyright © 2024 Lalo Kikiriki
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 02/04/08 at 04:57 AM All sorts of interesting, brilliantly captured images here. Especially the last one. Great stuff. |
| Posted by Rhiannon Jones on 02/04/08 at 03:18 PM Well. This is pretty great! Perfect title, and agreement with Gabriel about that last stanza. |
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