In The
Crowd at the Big H
I spy them, each in boots and jeans,
calico shirts and cowboy hats,
just barely out of their own teens,
waving off horseflies, and the gnats.
Among these thousands just like them,
4-H-ers come to show, or see,
Blue-Ribboned livestock—each a gem—
what draws my eye? Not his goatee.
They amble, his hand on her nape—
not a caress... Then, what? A check?
He steers her! Lest she bolt, escape..?
“One clasps a bottle by the neck,
a woman friend by hand or waist...”
Or is she livestock he has aced?
Triolet For a Loyalist
A short take on Apology 38
For G.K.J.
“Our unexamined life is not worth fog,”
said Socrates, and laid his mirror down
before the youths he probed, as pedagogue.
“Our unexamined life is not worth FOG!”
he told an Athens Elders demagogue
who offered exile, fragrant eiderdown.
“OUR..? Unexamined! Life is not worth fog,”
said Socrates. And laid his mirror down.
Copyright © 2005 Leland Jamieson