Rebecca (an acrostic poem by Ronald F. Sauer)
Reaching for you in the dark of night as well as in the light:
you’re mine, you’re mine, you’re regally mine!—
Even greedily, even fat and happily, you’re mine. What a grand
and solid monarch you’ve made of me in these our realms of love.
I feel rather like Henry the Eight. —Wait, we’d better make that
Henry the Tenth!—to allow for inflation
and the vicissitudes of Time.
Yes, Henry the Tenth, it lends a gibbous then decimal rotundity
to my way out, far-flung, orbiting authority, to the
Breadth and depth and paunch
of my every satisfied desire and need, yes…
Even so, we’ll make bolder still, and found a new religion:
its cornerstone your sweetness, its sacraments
your lips and breasts,
its candlelight your eyes, its dome and heights
the starry sublime of all the witty, tingling things
you say and do to further the cause of love and truth…
Come down to earth, come back to reality,
we might just get some woppy lip from the Pope collage by Rebecca Peters
for rearranging the stars in heaven, but he’ll get used to it… and
Come to think of it, we’ll have to consult the
Royal Exchequer soon: we might be a little short on dough
for all the pheasant pies we need and all the happy truffle cakes.
And if need be, we’ll simple invade
that fair and Froggy land due south, and abduct a dozen or so
ransomable princes… I hear tell they dress well and
wear perfumes in lieu of bathing, and that some of them
can even read…
Ronald F Sauer
January 19th, 2011 |
