Derision
The stone hero floats across the lawn,
approaching nonentity with drawn
leather briefcase.
Interpreting an after-dinner pause,
quietly admires a lady's claws
and perfect face.
A starving hope can be revealing,
her shattered glance up to the ceiling,
her throat in lace.
The power-crystal is just salt
and he can tell it's not her fault
she lost the race.
Copyright © Nancy Ames | Year Posted 2007
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