A Perfect Storm (M17)
by Mary Cresswell
Turneresque,
you said
hands on hips
a smirk on your lips
I quite disagree, I said
it’s more of a Rubens
on acid, sans woman
Grotesque, you said
turning around
you’re out of your mind
It’s highly Renoiry, I said
with just a wee bitsy
smidgeon of Sisley
Incandescent, you went
calling up images
clawing books from the shelf
Well, hell, I said
it’s Sunday morning
the perfect time
to storm. So we did.
Copyright © 2006, Mary Cresswell
Image Credit: NASA, ESA and J. Hester (ASU)
Mary Cresswell is a science editor and proofreader; she is from Los Angeles and has spent half her life in New Zealand. She's published poetry in journals in Australia, Canada, NZ, and the US, and lives by the sea just north of Wellington.