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An Ernest Whirl

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Each little breath-of-a-poem begins with a phrase purloined from A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway.
 


 
~~ 1 ~~
 
stretch of river bank
near the precipitous cliff—
her quavering heart
 
~~ 2 ~~
 
a bleak, windy stretch
with nothing to sustain her
but some cheap red wine
 
~~ 3 ~~
 
this cold afternoon
even the pigeons stutter
as they try to coo
 
~~ 4 ~~
 
Even the false spring
baffles the chestnut seller
on the rue Ampère.
 
~~ 5 ~~
 
pitiful old man
pushing a rickety cart
filled with rotting grapes
 
~~ 6 ~~
 
crowded market street—
her longing for fresh scallions
draws her to one stall
 
~~ 7 ~~
 
all of the sadness
leaking into her old bones
with the autumn rain
 
~~ 8 ~~
 
in the clear sharp wind
crows practising a language
to mock passersby
 
~~ 9 ~~
 
a cold windswept street—
running down a flight of stairs
to meet her lover
 
~~ 10 ~~
 
saddest part of town—
the absence of a taxi
to whisk her away
 
~~ 11 ~~
 
the public bathhouse—
through a rift in the west wall
old men ogling her

 
© 2014 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Poetry Pantry #215
 
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 175

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