A. L. Breitling
Kamera - Poem by A. L. Breitling
The lawn is broad and green today,
despite the way you sit there,
staring slack across the furniture
like a used-up Rubens’ odalisque.
The coast winds still sweep in
blue skies and children’s voices
from the strand to where you sit,
outstretched, upon a cast iron chair
that etches its delicate pattern
along your fair and dimpled thighs.
It’s all the style – the rage, you say,
this currant jam with toast and tea
that oozes as well as marmalade
on its sterling silver serving tray.
Then later, cucumber sandwiches
and radishes cut in roses, an assortment
of baby vegetables – puréed, glacéed
or underdone, a squab prepared past recognition,
rotisseried in the latest fashion
and nestled on a bed of funny lettuce.
The cost is of no consequence;
money and time are ours to burn.
The profit and the past should earn
an adequate fire for your escape,
while I sit back and speculate
how you’ll look when you return.
Comments about Kamera by A. L. Breitling
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You