Glenn Latal Poems
|1.||Icarus In The Rain||11/22/2006|
|2.||Plotting The Drift||11/25/2006|
|4.||A Pilgrimage To Saint Sickle’s Leg||11/25/2006|
|5.||It Fills And Hovers||12/22/2006|
|6.||The Falling Glass||12/22/2006|
|7.||When You Pull The Bow And Lift The Lid||12/27/2006|
|8.||If My Machine Answers, You’re The Plumber||12/22/2006|
|9.||A Glorious Blaze Of Dusk||11/22/2006|
|10.||Could I Have That To Go?||11/22/2006|
|11.||Gilled Was I||11/24/2006|
Could I Have That To Go?
Her steam starched, water whitened, raw reddened hands
smelled of bluefish and clean pots hot and drying.
One hip cocked, unwantonly saucy,
her pen approaches pad as though taper to votive candle.
With pensive regard, this Madonna awaits
my confession of what private appetite tortures me.
This dance of dropped wing, shaken head,
elevated eyebrow, glance over shoulder retort
has been shared every day by countless cowardly unsinning fools
for as long as there have been diners.
Wishing we could rise and reach and pull against.
A tango erupts from the ...