That gray morning I purchased a cheap electric <br />bass, the man with a friend on the Force <br />offering color enlargements of a <br />strangled young woman <br /> <br />A dark aesthetic from the line of red desert <br />sunset clouds and bluffs that is the long <br />strawberry bruise across <br />her neck <br /> <br />Sunshine from that day highlights her <br />cheek’s meadow of blonde <br />peach hair still gleaming <br />to life <br /> <br />My recoil reflex is a riptide undertow noxious as <br />open sewers, blackened further by her blithe <br />For Sale, an open casket among cast-off <br />utensils and chintzy artwork <br /> <br />The static image reappears like a long submerged <br />corpse floating before me when I see a <br />cheap sunburst electric bass <br />or now<br /><br />Michael Philips<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/one-day-at-the-flea-market/
