Poetry from NHI publications

Not for the girl in bikini so baked and bubbly and lean
Nor for the muscled young man whose pack has gone far
Nor the trim gentleman nor the modest woman who reads.
It is for you my Rolly Wicker I stop.
For your barrelling girth that heaps like a mound of slag.
For your cotton polyester pants and your clogs and your mackinaw
And your great infantile knee pressed up to your sleeping chin.
For the slip of sandy hair over your brow and its gentle wave.
You look as though you have never hurt anyone ever.
You seem like something out of a Hindu myth,
Some elephant creature whose breath keeps the trees in line.
Pushes the cars, holds the buildings up.
You look like every man who has come to the park and flopped.
I do more than stop. I gawk. I almost bless.
It is only out o respect for you, concern
That you will awaken and see me and be ashamed
That I do not draw out my pencil and pad and sketch.
New Hope International New Series #4

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