Friday, August 21, 2015

Four Summers Gone Now

(birthday eve poem for a Mr. Ray Bradbury)

ripping the bandaid off of the end of summer
did you wince then at the sudden snows
or just drift out your own windows

as if you were the which of an October wind?
and it should just be snowing stories
but it's not I thought

when they said on the news that you
had gone and, later on, that the lemon house
stood less than empty

now that they had razed it-
as if they could, raze moonlight
or the golden groves not

come up again;
give us a spade, a small blue pail
we will find your China

just as you painted it
on the other side of Time
and mermaids too

and this Ray Bradbury is

my fishtale poem for you
if you cherry fizz please;
on your third invisible birthday party shore or

birthday eve...where it must be snowing ice cream
at least, where you are,by now
and cakes galore!

mary angela douglas 21 august 2015

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