NEW! Poem by Kenneth Williams

Kenneth Williams

THE SUMMER HOUSE IN WINTER

for Lisa Nardi

The summer house in winter
lifts like a saint into a sky
not blue but bone white,
its orange an anticipation
of the coats of the men
who tromp through
incredible snow.

Aren’t you just sick of gorgeous people
making news in gorgeous settings?

Aren’t you ready
to drop and pray
for those whose joy
is mayonnaise?

The cognac explodes
into oak-paneled flame.
The library dwindles
in significance.

Quick!
Show me all the books by anonymous.
Bring me the head of Frank Lloyd Wright.

Straighten the doornail.
Stem the rose.

I am the very flower of discretion.