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Eva, my downstairs neighbor,
with her Tuesday fuchsia hair
and her Friday hair chartreuse,
elusive as quicksilver spilled
and rolling, a hundred tiny orbs in all directions,
dashed from the house in her tiger-striped slip
dress, the one I’d have stolen, given the chance.
She was going to miss her bus—again.
Next door, the snake in the shrubbery
raised his head and sniffed her perfume.
He lowered the hood on his classic red Corvette,
wiped a mote of dust from that shiny apple
and slunk on over to offer her a bite.
This poem first appeared in Free Verse (October 2004, Issue #77).
Used here with the author’s permission.
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Phyllis Wax writes in Milwaukee, Wisconsin on a bluff overlooking Lake Michigan. A lover of warm weather, she watches the snow come and go, waiting and hoping for spring. From the window in front of her desk, she observes an abundance of migrating birds, several generations of turkeys, and the occasional fox, deer, and raccoon. Some of those make their way into her poetry. Phyllis has read her poems on the radio, in coffee shops, in libraries and bars, and her work has appeared in numerous journals and anthologies.
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Linda Lee (Konichek):
Whenever I see "Phyllis Wax" on a poem, I look forward to a stimulation of my senses and mind; I am never disappointed. Each word is important and crafted-love this poem and attitude!
Posted 11/10/2010 09:53 AM
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dotief@comcast.net:
I love the use of color--hair colors,the tiger-striped slip dress, and the red apple Corvette. Very nice.
Posted 11/10/2010 08:52 AM
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jeanie:
love it, phyllis! sweet. a corvette as a shiny red apple....nice.
Posted 11/10/2010 07:06 AM
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