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Poem

Down by the only lily pond around here
the air is brisk and not particularly subtle
as it blows its windy nose.

It's not exactly a Monet painting
the setting is a little too municipal
and certainly not in winter,
but in a good light
it can be almost picturesque.

I conjure up some Debussy
replaying a favorite musical theme
in my slowly hissing mind
as it deflates and comes to rest.

In time, my thoughts
may dwell upon the pretty ladies
in their summer dresses
that sometimes visit
this unassuming spot,
but of course
not on a cold winters day.

No doubt I was born too late or early
to be a romantic
and my ass is getting chilled
on this stone bench

but damn it, with any luck
I will be back here in Spring
dewy eyed, and with
a melodic tune or song
pumping along
in my quixotic heart.

I might even bring the wife,
might even buy her a parasol.

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