Your snood (a pantoum)
Quick, Woman, in your net
Catch the silver I fling.
Gather in your hair my sweat
And spittle as I weep and sing.
Catch the silver I fling
Of sleepless nights and sodden sheets
And spittle as I weep and sing
Of barren empty city streets
And sleepless nights and sodden sheets
And eyes assured of certain certainties
Whose barren empty city streets
Are twisted with deformities
And eyes assured of certain certainties
that glare at simple innocence
So twisted by deformities
Their loves become antitheses
And glare at simple innocence
And me, an outlandish stranger.
Your love became a synthesis
Of hope and grief and laughter
And I no more a stranger
Gather from your hair my debt
Of hope and grief and laughter
Caught, woman, in your net. The poem above alludes to an erotic work of Irish poet, W.R.Rodgers (1909-1969), "The Net."
