Apples of Gold in Pictures of Silver
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
He spent too many winter evenings with
Her, drinking tea and cocoa at the best.
The bedroom moments proved the myth
Of marriage far too thin, a lie abscessed.
He spent too many springtime mornings by
Her side. The promises the blossoms made
Resulted in aggressive alkali,
Narcissus nectar from a convent’s shade.
He spent too many summer afternoons
With her and even when in Paris, wife
Withheld from him what husband needs, more prunes
Than fruit in a silver frames this kind of life.
The autumns were the worst. The scarlet trees
Surrounded them. She sat there as a tease.
~ Phillip Whidden