Peter Chapman Poetry

ballet to the border lord

walking into town i heard a gray bird sing
in a thicket sparse against the sky,
saying why (and why-oh-why),
which so familiar sounded me-oh-my

sister, it's okay to have a violent hour

brother, the battle may be lost,
but we're all here from giving up
and the bird went look, his life is bad

and it makes Mom sad and look at me bird,
popping quarters from the state quarter book,
a gift from Mom-our Mom, to buy gas and coffee

can you warble that, going thorn to bud

light as air, no thought or fear
of the goony pressure this time of year

or the shadows creeping this thin light,
lachrymose, scared goodnight, so Mom

watching tv, finds me in that stately dome,
pouring wine for the Pres, then turns to golf
her drink refreshed, laying up what she loves best