Poetry Sunday

I love to watch people. Especially beautiful women, but that's not important know. I love to watch people, to wonder who they are and where they are going and what they will do when they get there. Riding the bus or the Metro to work every day over years, I had plenty of opportunities to see new people and imagine their stories. But as far as I know, I never met Miss Jones ...

Have You Met Miss Jones?

by Charles Simic

I have. At the funeral
Pulling down her skirt to cover her knees
While inadvertently
Showing us her cleavage
Down to the tip of her nipples.

A complete stranger, wobbly on her heels,
Negotiating the exit
With the assembled mourners
Eyeing her rear end
With visible interest.

Presidential hopefuls
Will continue to lie to the people
As we sit here bowed.
New hatreds will sweep the globe
Faster than the weather.
Sewer rats will sniff around
Lit cash machines
While we sigh over the departed.

And her beauty will live on, no matter
What any one of these black-clad,
Grim veterans of every wake,
Every prison gate and crucifixion,
Sputters about her discourtesy.

Miss Jones, you'll be safe
With the insomniacs. You'll triumph
Where they pour wine from a bottle
Wrapped in a white napkin,
Eat sausage with pan-fried potatoes,
And grow misty-eyed remembering

The way you walked past the open coffin,
Past the stiff with his nose in the air
Taking his long siesta.
A cute little number an old man said,
But who was she?
Miss Jones, the guest book proclaimed.


Sadly, presidential hopefuls will continue to lie to the people who deserve better ... or perhaps they won't lie, but will wield instead a carefully selected and artfully twisted selection of the truth, cherry-picking their well-oiled words in the hopes that you and I will be distracted while we're eyeing Miss Jones' rear end with visible interest.

Have a good day, and enjoy the rest of your weekend. More thoughts tomorrow, when Musical Monday returns.

Bilbo