An Off-course Wind

by Vincent R. Pozon

After two decades of being immured in one office, moving out provided surprises. Stuff I thought I had lost turned up. I did lose most of the poetry, leaving me with but a dozen or so of very early, early as in teenaged, attempts at obeying a most difficult muse. I recorded two, put them to music, added my paintings. This is one.

A poem from 1973, my voice, my paintings.
Music: Rabbit Asleep by Tom Fahy

She wore bad manners, the sort
granted by age and eminence
She broke into the house one sticky
noon and pirouetted on my table
And she delighted at our chimes
And tried herself against lamps and frames
and annoyed she turned to me:      

she had tales and dust of miles
and sadly resting
sang of love and protégés unfaithful        
and she disliked the people with me
who would not greet her

And I drank of this unraveling
then gruffly she turned
but gave me time enough
to pack my books and laundry.