Fog #2

the mariner's nightmare
is not a blanket at all,
although it does
"creep in on little cat feet";
it is a shroud,
hiding more than
the eye discerns:
on this night,
so dark and damp,
that brings out both
the scoundrel
and the vamp,
the foghorn sounds,
so strong and low --
like a forsaken gigolo,
like a lover, spurned --
so much so that
all the lessons learned
are forgotten,
as misbegotten,
and it hides both
the best and the worst
that sunshine displays.

April 3, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

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