Even this lovliest of cities has its bad-air days. |
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Scarlett O'HaraThe brush poised above Praguedescended and announced the color of the day Brown was its verdict Not a graceful umber, but shroud-like, carbon centered dog-shit brown It drifts across the mid-point of Petrin Hill, softening St. Michael, who’s grown soft enough one would suspect, dead these centuries Blown to dust A watery sun at four o'clock, pouts and burns the skin This yellow sky, color du jour, all but weeps This portion of earth turning under, facing away, embarrassed by its forecast fate and yearning for the dark For tomorrow, as Scarlett bravely said is indeed, another day |
 This poem is included in Jim Freeman's poetry collection CORNER OF MY MIND available here in print or as an e-Book in your favorite formats. |
