Eric Ashford Poet Free verse

Gallery Art

I have to crane my neck
the small coterie presses,
I am too short
for long distance seeing
walls tower over my eyes
like curtains.

“You have to see the hidden in the hidden”

The svelte tailored nose-whisper
expects me to know what he means.
I do, but I am not going to nod
and affirm his effete conceits

besides, I am only here
because of the rain.

I am still trying to step back
to take the image in
from a far view

but there are backs
and back-packs,
slow dripping rain hats.

Spectacles are steaming up
in the muggy ambience,

and he is droning
going to a place
where flowers in a vase
mark a post-revolutionary
something or other.

Now I can’t see it at all
perhaps it is hiding in its
hideaway
almost in front of my face?

I overhear
over damp overcoats
it being coaxed
into something more,

much more
than a few blobs of color
caught indoors
on a rainy day.

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