~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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.
I can still feel my finger slide across the chilled glass panes of our kitchen window.
The simmering warmth of my grandmother’s stew against the freeze of a cold winter’s morning, gave birth to a fun filled coating of "dew".
I can hear her melodious chide as I continued drawing stickmen in the steam against her wishes. Such was a typical morning of my youth.
The "bouquet" of Ajax cleanser would descend as I watched an old Shirley Temple movie, redeeming the shrill notes of the scrub brush in the tub, a sure sign that it was Saturday. Though the dwindling mound of laundry announced that we’d soon be off to market,
I still hoped for a reprieve.
Alas, no time for Mighty Mouse!
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.