Short Love Sonnets
3.
She pulled a living green wrinkled shiny leaf
Out of a man-made plastic oak stump.
When she expressed love, her tongue a ballerina.
But she never opened her eyelids,
turquoise-painted.
I posed as a crooked steamboat gambler,
Pulled an ace from my pearl-cuffed
silent sleeve.
I trumped the cards on the table far away
Across the room by a caged mechanical canary.
She, delighted, kissed me, jumped up,
eyes still closed,
Phoned to command her uncle
divorce his beloved wife.
Duane Locke
Posted over on Metazen
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