Thursday
May232013

They Cured Him

Poetry by Sy Roth, Spring & Summer 2013

*

Featherdown comforter, coat of red cilia,

saw him through cold and death.

Sere freckled blanket fried by the sun,

buffeted by frigid winds

the Empire State Building could not crack,

finally Benedict Arnolded him.

Caught him unawares.

Betrayed him.

 

Mirrors were his friend.

Reflected his red hair well even when it turned gray.

The smile, chiseled fixture, froze in his fool’s paradise.His arms wrapped about his head in sweeping strokes,

combed it back revealing a broad, crenellated brow

etched with glimmers of hope.

 

They said that they could cure him.

Afterwards, the mirror refused the sham.

Smileless foe stared back,

lip corner turned down in a perpetual snarl,

eye nerve snicked obstinately open,

stream of tears, a steady Quasimodo reminder,

flowed north to his brain.

 

They did cure him,

of his lust for life.

Madness swallowed him

whole.

 

 *

Retired after forty-two years as a teacher/school administrator, Sy Roth now resides in Mount Sinai, far from Moses and the tablets. This has led him to find words for solace. He spends his time writing and playing his guitar. He has published in many online publications.

Image: http://www.flickr.com/photos/born2bmild/5158015580/

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