Poetry of Issue #7        Page 31

Edie

Edie. A new thing follows, rising above
the corner of a young woman.
A hanging muse by the hour
of American character. Drooling to
start the mundane terror, the idle rich
rolling into sex with the mysterious and
needy. We admired her disdain, prim
and daring as it was. Behind grim music, it
was time to drape a rose on her last night.
Earth dared to think, and prodded her
chrome horse down into her dazzling vanity.

She was passed the torch at birth, to be
lively,
Pretty, sexy, proud.
A stabbing racoon.
A glittering moonturn captured and
released the triumph of the seedy goddess.
Her talent carried a lamp in the
abyss,
and skipped it.
A haunt on loan from the gods
gave a throaty laugh
and, in sadness,
looked for the next new thing.

(in tribute to Mark Fogarty’s poem “Dame Edith”)

  R. Bremner