Put a hat on my head– soft gray felt–
a red silk tie– my black shoes polished and shined.
Let the flame lick at the hatbrim, consume the crown,
let the fire loosen my tie, wear out my shoes–
thus, I stroll by shop windows where angels peer out.
On Paradise Boulevard they’ll stop to look,
someone will turn and whisper,
“He writes very brief– very literate– little poems.”
JACK PEACHUM
Refreshing, briefly descriptive, and playfully entertaining.
Glad you posted this, glad I read it.