A-head
By Alice Shapiro
Beating footprints over concrete
leave marks and shadows
if we turn to look.
The neck, curious as Lot's wife
commands reversal
and possible blockage to a pleasant walk.
The head, that fragile instrument of peace
or evil
guides and reasons,
soothes, abuses
invests, invites, deletes.
Mine in particular is king
or queen subordinating limbs
and organs, feet
to do its bidding.
I am my head.
It is sometimes red and wrathful
green and cool
it takes me where it wants to
an everlasting tool
like driver's education school.
I cannot turn it off
even if it acts the Fool.
I plan to take it with me
in its spirit body
when a head no longer rules
this solitary earthly journey.
Alice Shapiro's poetry will appear at vox poetica in 2010. For more of her work, please visit her web site.
Thank you, Annmarie! You are an important force in the world of poetry.
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What an interesting way to explain ones anatomy. Lovely.
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My 88-year-old friend finds my "inanimate object" poems like this weirdly funny. Thanks so much Jeanette, I'm glad you liked it.
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Very clever title. I especially like:
The head, that fragile instrument of peace
or evil
guides and reasons,
soothes, abuses
invests, invites, deletes.
And I like the rhyming in the last stanza.
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Thanks Bobbie! It was a fun poem to write.
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Love, love, love the comparison to Lot's wife
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Thank you Jessie! A little salt for flavor.
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