Box fugue
If I were to venture outside this box,
no way would I spend my time thinking.
I’d make mud pies, play water backgammon,
carve driftwood splakes and picaroons,
yodel from the tops of skyscrapers,
dance a Highland Fling in Tiananmen Square,
hunt gamelan in Borneo, weave a spell
to break the Curse of the Golden Jackhammer.
And once the curse was broken,
Then, O then I could stare in peace
at a corner of my box where walls
and ceiling meet, three planes
in sundry shades of white, three lines
that shift with the rolling of my head.
If I were to venture outside this box,
no way would I spend my time thinking.
I’d make mud pies, play water backgammon,
carve driftwood splakes and picaroons,
yodel from the tops of skyscrapers,
dance a Highland Fling in Tiananmen Square,
hunt gamelan in Borneo, weave a spell
to break the Curse of the Golden Jackhammer.
And once the curse was broken,
Then, O then I could stare in peace
at a corner of my box where walls
and ceiling meet, three planes
in sundry shades of white, three lines
that shift with the rolling of my head.
Esther Greenleaf Murer has been writing poetry forever, and got serious
about learning the craft when she turned 70. Since then her work has
appeared on numerous ezines; links may be found on her blog. http://esthergreenleafmurer.blogspot.com/ She published her first collection, Unglobed Fruit, in 2011. She lives in Philadelphia, PA, USA.
