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[zarahemla]

Those of you on breathe_poetry already got your poem today but I was reading Maxine Kumin again and I freakin' love this poem, it is completely ace, so since Sundays are slow, I thought you could do with another. Sonnets rule, and this one is exactly perfect, completely cynical like me. If you know me, you know this my kind of poem.

Purgatory
Maxine Kumin

And suppose the darlings get to Mantua,
suppose they cheat the crypt, what next? Begin
with him, unshaven. Though not, I grant you, a
displeasing cockerel, there's egg yolk on his chin.
His seedy robe's aflap, he's got the rheum.
Poor dear, the cooking lard has smoked her eye.
Another Montague is in the womb
although the first babe's bottom's not yet dry.
She scrolls a weekly letter to her Nurse
who dares to send a smock through Balthasar,
and once a month, his father posts a purse.
News from Verona? Always news of war.
   Such sour years it takes to right this wrong!
   The fifth act runs unconscionably long.



And now it's naptime.

Comments

[moonwhip.livejournal.com]

Oh, thank you for posting this poem. Just perfect.

Hope you feel better soon. :)