Question Arising While Listening To A Lecture On The Nature Of Metaphor Poem by Rick Barot

Question Arising While Listening To A Lecture On The Nature Of Metaphor



Why does it mean
anything that the girl

sitting beside me,
her hair cropped
punk-close on the
sides, long and gelled

stiff at top, her
legs in camouflage
leggings, her boots
black as crude oil,

the odor coming from
her a mixture of
incense and some
kind of bitter and

rocky herb, that
this smell is exactly
the smell of my
grandfather's sickbed

brew, the last-resort
swamp liquid
a Chinatown-alley
herbalist prescribed

for him on that
summer at the end,
the black water
of the profane

cupfuls meeting the
black waters that
were rising inside?

COMMENTS OF THE POEM

It is a beautiful poem and the smell of my grandfather's order is felt a fine wording.

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