Joseph Crowe Poetry

Imagine a sunbaked desert with

a neat concrete pad for you

to keep your new clothes clean and dry

as you stand or maybe sit in a cushioned chair

and watch the bright droplets tossed

up to the sun like some satanic offering

and the wet dome of the dark head

reflecting light into your unwilling eyes.

Never mind “why”; the question is: “Will you?”

The answer is your stillness, the ease

with which your fragile gaze shifts

back to your waterproof device to drink

again from the feed, to not see your failure

floating face-down in the pond.