{ pathetic.org }

arthur and flora

by Jo Halliday

My first plane,
was some ruled paper, full of history dates,
battles won, lost, meaningless
massacres. In subdued class,
submerged in information,
the afternoon was sparkling. Clean
her pretty pearls, her fragrant hair,
her hands lying idly, with pink nail polish
uncaring of tyrants, one in herself
she caressingly glanced: time sped by
in BCs and ADs, and farther-
-when they broke up. Bell rings,
the plane never lands. She turns petty.


Posted on 08/21/2014
Copyright © 2022 Jo Halliday

Return to the Previous Page

pathetic.org Version 7.3.2 May 2004 Terms and Conditions of Use 0 member(s) and 2 visitor(s) online
All works Copyright © 2022 their respective authors. Page Generated In 0 Second(s)