Amor Propre

AMOR PROPRE

The clouds, Giorgione, sprawl, spread overhead,
Some purple, some orange-a little red.
On ground, brown leaves, cotton from cotton trees,
Old fence, black iron, now fallen on its knees.
An abandoned villa, windows alabaster,
Inside, a swallow flies over plaster.
I watch its shadow cross the round window,
The swallow is alone among frescoes.

A fountain, on top, Venus and her charms,
Although this Venus has a broken arm.
The rim, a rusty red, circles a void.
In basin, stray orange cat appears annoyed.

My attraction to the abandoned, deprived,
Such as myself, has helped me to survive.


Duane Locke

Posted over on Writer's Eyes