A BUCK-FIFTY’S WORTH OF SUNSHINE
He wanted it to be perfect,
for the words to fit together
like a well-oiled…
scratch that…
he’d heard that some Muslim women
(in Turkey or were they Moors?)
purposely wove a mistake
into their intricate tapestries
because only God is perfect
and they were right of course,
but he felt perfect just now
sitting still, warm
in a buck-fifty’s worth
of sunshine.
Copyright Andrew M. Bell
Acknowledgement is made to Valley Micropress in which this poem first appeared in Volume 12, Issue #7, September 2009.
Acknowledgement is made to Valley Micropress in which this poem first appeared in Volume 12, Issue #7, September 2009.
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