Grace to be born. . .

Warm delicate words pile into the poem
summer birds are full of joy     they know
how lucky they are and the girls are all
dressed for love     with rouged cheeks
and lips swollen in anticipation.
Grace to be born
                      into such a realm of
pleasure       a paradise but for the flies
and mosquitoes           I ask Patsy if she
will love me forever “Too early to tell,”
she smiles back at me as I nibble the hairs
on the back of her neck
       Back in the day
a straight answer was a thing of joy but
everything has changed in the house that
Jack built  :  call it progress call it decline

John Lyons

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