By Toklas blee@direct.ca
Date: 1 February 2001
Portrait of an Endearing Curmudgeon
Thistle mine, how you strike the grass
all angles and points;
how you sharpen fools, turning
dulcet eyes into sly lies of quietude.
How you execute the corners
of a thought, twist a word
into an ornery knot. I watch
what mischief you carry round
in handfuls of merry taunts.
But now your season comes swiftly into night;
you saunter off to contemplative pools.
Down by Brandywine, you fish amid
the poplar and the pine; prickling and bristling
you pick your way, last lines flashing with the close of day.
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