From Rap to Classical
in Three-Fifths of a Second


The thing is,
stop offending my ears!

A young child places her hand
on a yellow tiled wall;
she feels the vibration of mummified feathers
going all the way back
to the kiln.

The blue violin removes her silk garter.

While the oboe,
fresh as yellow Autumn leaves,                                                      
slips into her icy gown
the color of vodka.

Alan Britt

If you have any comments on this poem, Alan Britt would be pleased to hear from you.