Anthony and Jodie
grasp statues of
famed charactery,
a his/her sweep of
symbols and signs
among all that glitter gold.
A swifter magnetizes
shelf dust marked by
the thirty seven year old pictured
debut of a tuxed and gowned
newcomer’s appearance to the stage.
SRO
No inquisitor, she.
No eat and run, he.
Short, sweet, with amazing concision, Rusty. I, for one, am most jealous! Whoda thunk that dust could speak so eloquently about one's life? You've done this is in a fresh and imaginatively wistful manner. Bravo.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great write! Will you be posting anymore poems? Would love to read them! xxElysabeth