Across the bay evening dips into the water, a leg over the lip of the bath.
A corpse in the bath is worth two in the hand. Who
said that? Probably someone who tired of birds, of cupping
a heart attack between palms. Though that seems to be the
way people want to go, a fistfight in an alley and dust in the eyes.
Love, war and a back-alley scuffle: pick two and make them
vehicle and tenor. Metaphor is, after all, a man in the bath,
dead, and all the doors in the house left open.
No comments:
Post a Comment