RED MUSE POEMSBy David Eide |
Grievous but seductive harlots lined the bare bankside; the lover of them is dead so young, so dead. The bleached body is kissed by each in her turn; one bares her breast and demands the silent man to drink. They move in a row down a narrow bridge- laughing in their memories- he might have been President! The town welcomes them with a small-town band dominated by drums and trombones; they titter as they cover their ears.