Sunday, 6 January 2013

In Arcadia

the topic of conversation among the four
nymphish women at the concert -

where a goateed fellow like Pan
plays bass viol, accompanied

by a curly-tressed lad on flute -
is whether, when and to whom

the onlooking officer, red-sashed
and smirking beneath his thin moustache,

will make some cut-and-thrusting parley
with one of them. Like the violist's beret,

light slants from left to right, across
their sparkling decolletages.

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