March

March is capricious,
sun and sharp winds
it tugs at more than
heartstrings and potted
plants as it tattoo's
leaving scars.

Monsieur Axonge
closes his shop,
business was slow today
and the clock in the square
chimes 5 and the street
lights send their twinkly
orange shade on cobbles.

The aroma from the café
rises to her eyrie in the sky
as a marmalade cat
winds his way around her
feet, willing her to steep
and slow, she will know
that nothing makes sense.

At midnight she will dance
with a broom, while below
Monsieur Axonge, will cut
a little slice, so nice
of creamy cheese
and turn the music higher
he likes to hear her dance
like skittles across his heart

Tomorrow maybe, March
will be kind, the wind
a little less severe
like Grandmére
on a Sunday afternoon;
that little soupçon
she imbibes;
he smiles at the memory
and puts his coat and scarf on,
dinner for one
but a heart made for two.



Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 52 times
Written on 2025-03-16 at 18:03

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Ray Miller
Lovely poem.

he likes to hear her dance
like skittles across his heart - great lines.

rises to her eyrie in the sky - do you need "in the sky"?
If tattoo's is a verb then you wouldn't need the apostrophe. But maybe it isn't.
2025-03-19


jim The PoetBay support member heart!
I agree with shells (I always have). This is magical, so light, so . . . there.
2025-03-17


shells
As you always do, I am there. The final stanza seems of realism, hope and memories. Much enjoyed this piece.
2025-03-16