An Eighth Of A Lemon Poem by Donal Mahoney
An Eighth Of A Lemon
For Martha in the early years
life was recess, nothing more.
She knelt on asphalt,
quartered oranges for kittens
who never lost stringed mittens,
whose London Bridges
never fell down.
For Martha now,
life's Parkview Manor
where a woman in white,
three times a day, bleeds
an eighth of a lemon into her tea.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
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4/26/2024 7:45:13 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Well I tried, Donal. Is everything you write this disjointed? What would you call the form? doggerel? free verse (shudder) I really would like to know.