Resurrection of Time Now Dead By a Poet Going Blind, 14

RESURRECTION OF TIME NOW DEAD
BY A POET GOING BLIND, 14


In my backyard walk, my shoe scraped
away a covering of sand and I discovered
a lost doormat. On the doormat was printed:
“Welcome to the opinions that are spoken
About onions in this house,
Their globular bodies of translucent layers,
So thin and thick that they become opaque.”
“Welcome” the word brought back memories
Of my salad days at a tent meeting,
the preacher wore a blue baseball caps
danced in the blank spaces
made by the wires from a microphone.
The event was on the Sunday
that I went to a Supermarket,
brought a half-dozen onions,
placed the six white onions on a white table,
contemplated their configurations.


Duane Locke

Posted over on Jackie's Archives

Duane Locke

Posted over on Jackie's Archives