Friday, 5 May 2017

1 Poem by Joanna M. Weston

 THE MAN IN THE AISLE

a stone rolled from under my foot
and I fell into a bowl of plum blossom

shades of pink filled hands and mouth
branches grew into my body

I could swing from planets where rainbows
tied cars to orbiting space junk

unheralded by the man on the aisle
who contributed articles

on slugs   banshees   ad-writers
and theatre critics to the New Yorker

which banned me from airports
for packing over-ripe peaches

in carry-on baggage that leaked
onto hawks’ and doves’ wings

my Ceasar cut dripping blood   earwigs
and herrings into aisles as I slid

out into skies of wilted petals
where I leapt hydro wires with aplomb


Bionote

JOANNA M. WESTON: Married; has one cat, multiple spiders, a herd of deer, and two derelict hen-houses. Her middle-reader, ‘Frame and The McGuire', published by Tradewind Books 2015; and poetry,  ‘A Bedroom of Searchlights’, published by Inanna Publications, May 2016. Her eBooks found at her blog:  http://www.1960willowtree.wordpress.com/

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