Al Fresco Café #212

RENATA’S POEM: THE BIRTH OF THE AUTHOR #49

Sandstone wall, a proud construction,
Admired, revered, looked as if it were
Broken human bones, knuckles, wrists,
Shins submerged in cement, resembled
A swimming pool of skeletons.
As the sun sunk the sun wove a black dress
Clothed the nakedness of lost poppies.
A ceramic plaque, chip missing, reminded
Of unclimbed stairway and a stammer
That could not become a sentence.

-- Duane Locke