I live in a town with plenty of copper roofed old buildings. Without this hint, this poem is a riddle




verdigris

named for the island of love
having an age of its own

 

a police officer whose eyes
has seen way too much  for comfort
her hair

too much salt with the pepper

like a weathered roof

 

a city scape in the air
in pale green





Poetry by Katarina Wikholm
Read 590 times
Written on 2012-11-30 at 13:15

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