The dowager biddy of our neighborhood
Uncovers evil everywhere: she mews
To voices lost in the wainscoting; she teems
With fled and ancient cats; she says the pith
Of the neighbors next door is spoiled, like fallen serfs
Exhausted by disaster. Debutantes
Are not what once they were: it’s in their eyes
And their tiaras. She sleeps in her car,
Parked out in front, to trick the foes and fiends
Who offer their casseroles in covered bowls
Shaped like the skulls of mayors she has known,
Domos and seneschals, now making light
Of all their troubles, there at Fairlawn, done with
The scene at Holy Family. She was there.
No comments:
Post a Comment