To the movers
paid in pizza
and sweating
in a darkening stairwell,
no moonlight sonata,
but a moon, of a kind, imposing
its shadowy grandeur and girth,
its unrelenting pull upon the earth
felt along make-do ropes, straps,
lines that quiver and work
deep into the flesh, deeper
groans, mother-of-gods, and another
concerted heave to surmount
a single step, this
slow inglorious agony
of ascension.
Latest posts by Mike White (see all)
- Piano - July 27, 2014
- Addendum to a Miracle - May 17, 2014