In 1985, while pursuing a business degree, I unhappily landed in a creative writing class and announced to the group that I thought Walt Whitman was a chain of schools throughout the United States. To my astonishment, I had found my pacing, abandoned prose, and started a poetry circle that has been meeting for 16 years. I have published three poetry collections, most recently: “Wonder” Little Lantern Press (out of Wales). https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_2?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=Laurie+Byro I am the Poet in Residence at the West Milford Township Library and despite it all, love New Jersey, and have lived here almost 60 years.
He likes showing off to his looking glass
menagerie of animals, his ten acres and a manse,
his brood of drab hens and his golden ass.
You can keep your rolled-out green expanse
of suburban trim; it's not for him. He preens
or struts regally for the other creatures to adore,
imagines tigers and spider monkey queens
all gasp and gape over his latest paramour.
Handsome cock. The weeping trees it seems
are the eyes of his lover. Like the legendary sweet
boy becoming thinner and thinner, he dreams
he hears his name cheered down every street.
Where's the unicorn who'll make his pulse race,
and absolve the lake for wrinkling his face?
The poem is in my recently released “The Bloomsberries and Other Curiosities”
© 2017 Laurie Byro
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