Pity, Isosceles, You Are No Greek Play Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

pity, isoceles you are no Greek play

only an angle on a page I cannot fathom

as easily as I fathom clouds


the sound of my grandfather mowing our lawn

and leaving the clover alone

the mint in the garden


the rose as still the rose.

pity that I cannot understand

the need for theorems


when music is at hand

the blue jay or the mocking birds

heard from our back porch


the tack of silver winds; the


near summer drone of bees

the soda pop poured, the ease of new magazines

and more than these

the bubble up of Time


when textbooks won't be needed

and all my reading will be the books I choose

and all these angles a mere interlude.


mary angela douglas 25 may 2020