image from ar.inspiredpencil.com
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Midcentury ghost of tinsel past, you stand so stiff, so proud, so chrome~ a space-age sapling, a disco-dome of pink, gold, and electric blue gyrating round your branches, sharp as kitchen knives. No scent of pine, no needles found, just astronauts’ suburban lives. O artifice! O sleek machine! spinning in your silver sheen.
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
