Today's poem is by Kathleen Winter

Postcard 1908: Death-tropes of the Feminine

Shall never forget the spread
we didn't have.

The facts are
there are none
in the assortment
but what are really
more attractive
than this sample:

large ones
juicy ones

soft ones a specialty

We're reading a long terrible novel
The Tunnel
and playing lottery
in hope of affording
a trip to the place
where time and character
cross paths:

perhaps it's the historical present,
where Henry James
himself softens up and says

The proof is in the pudding.

instead of

The only measure of
excellence is execution.

At river's edge
the last patch of Roman Soldier
has frozen.
Already, Uncle
speaks of syruping.

Write and let us know
you are not dead.

Copyright © 2018 Kathleen Winter All rights reserved
from I will not kick my friends
Elixir Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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