ST. AGNES EVE AT THE DRUG COUNTER <br />(Jan.20th—on the evening of this day a woman may look in a mirror glass and see her intended…) <br /> <br />-apologies to Keats <br /> <br />Those books of desperate love abridge the day. <br />With fair-haired dawn she rises. Scoundrel <br />with his touch ruin girls given time! - They <br />part when she's at work. Then home, nights rebel <br />and coups regime once light. Thin soup, vile cough, <br />that TV show (its name?) and loud as bell <br />this all alone, are company enough. <br />Phone and hope might ring, but what to tell? Well? <br />The year, in dying- staggers- then it drops. <br />Then New Year. So cold and short the winter’s <br />days! They’re winks on night. Stout cough still skips, hops <br />her slope of voice. Pharmacy-she enters, <br />peers mystic glass divider; cure? - instead- <br />Burt gives pills-none prescribe no-rest in bed...<br /><br />Glenn Bagshaw<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/st-agnes-eve-3/
