Treasure Island

Charles Simic

(9 May 1938)

Paradise Motel


Millions were dead; everybody was innocent.
I stayed in my room. The President
Spoke of war as of a magic love potion.
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  • Bob Beers (2/4/2009 5:33:00 PM)

    AFRAID

    To email my poem to
    Charles Simic, but I do.

    To watch his eyes examine
    a bike with broken training wheels
    kid bleeding from a fall.

    Too much to fathom.

    But there
    in Santa’s red thread
    under the tree
    a gift wrapped beauty

    To: Bob.

    Angels hover closer.
    Inside the blue box is
    Charlie’s gift:
    a diamond sculpture
    of his newest poem,
    Deleted. (Report) Reply

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