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deepundergroundpoetry.com
Leaning on the Glass
She leans against the window glass. She pants.
She thinks back to her fleeing down the stair.
She scarcely touched the floor. Those sycophants!
They watched her run away in her despair;
Regardless of their mealy-mouthed advice
And the approach they took, a sunless room
Was still a gloomy place that she’d excise
By flight in case the sequel was her tomb;
But she could not escape from where the cliffs,
Which shadowed this old house, would fail and fall,
She rearranged her dress and thought that risks
Were so prevalent here, she could not stall
A single one of them: she could not pass;
And, so, she trembled, leaning on the glass.
She thinks back to her fleeing down the stair.
She scarcely touched the floor. Those sycophants!
They watched her run away in her despair;
Regardless of their mealy-mouthed advice
And the approach they took, a sunless room
Was still a gloomy place that she’d excise
By flight in case the sequel was her tomb;
But she could not escape from where the cliffs,
Which shadowed this old house, would fail and fall,
She rearranged her dress and thought that risks
Were so prevalent here, she could not stall
A single one of them: she could not pass;
And, so, she trembled, leaning on the glass.
Published 27th Dec 2015
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