I am waiting
and will continue to wait
grey skies over grey fields
pink automobiles scurry down the lane
ah sorrow thy long and pointy fingernails
reach out to jab my tongue back
into its hidey-hole but
I will say- I dreamed once
of robes of purple, bestrode the world
a saucepan on my head, later I wore
a beer can for a sword
and now anticipate worse weather
so bespeak myself of deeper shrouds
than all this shallow paraphernalia
can give, would wish
my bloodiest battlefield's lament
be heard
but am afraid
I hear a voice that wails upon the wind
oh, find your voice and
we shall fly away.

written early 1981

© John Close