The Strayer Poem by Lex Taylor

Weary of straying, greatly
I sit on a remote diner
and order a sundae.
Entranced, I bask and reckon;
the sally went utterly tender
by the alamedas and the
boulevards. Houses of
gaudy molded fronts.
The dusty walls were dozing
smudged with tags. There
are snowy bronze knobs
in the gates and doors;
effigies and statuettes
neoclassical or modern
styles, but also gothic
buildings, really somber.
I was a trifle unmindful
of the unearthly funfairs
or the malls with rinks
and other odd saturnalias.
There existed afternoons when
I have taken naps in great
thoroughfares and other
days I went strolling by
Ten-kilometer long modern marts.
What is threat for the ghosts?
The first-run unpolluted lanes?
The old-hat penny arcade clerks?
The wild melees on book-fairs?
Cute grass on inclined parks.
Automats, pens, brasseries in
the cavalcade of streets in
levels of interlaced viaducts.
The square underway? Net baits-
A clepsydra saturated with
rompings and motions of the
kids and their caretakers.
Off the populous street zones,
the environs are markedly less
crowded, I found a dome-shaped
and white church in the midst
of a park -Sitting to relish
a bottled nectar I discover the
Vaishnava motive, the parrot
or (green) polly who enters the
pine, sort of delectable
and didactic vision. Ensues
a jiffy magical, the dryads
glow and undulate for me.

Kolkata, WB,2003