Poem: Scarlett O'Hara

Even this lovliest of cities has its bad-air days.

Scarlett O'Hara

The brush poised above Prague
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
Poetry Collection: Corner of My Mind
This poem is included in
Jim Freeman's
poetry collection

available here in print
or as an e-Book
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