by Kenneth Rosen

Two silver dandelions gone white,
Late autumn, one swatted half – bald
By a paw of the dog, the other
A beautiful, silver – haired miracle —
(Pause here, full pause ! ) the one
That’s my wife, and who I’d prefer
To adore anymore, than dwell
On the face and destiny of yon
Painfully familiar bungler in the waste
Land of  mirror, black – backed

Matte, yet subject, by vanity’s
Practical cunning and craving,
To sly adjustment, self – flattery,
So like life, not totally honest,
Or like luck, seduction’s minefield,
The clumsy dog, the tentative breath
Of a fall zephyr scattering fluff
By paw or puff.  Fate is indifferent,
And in the end, doesn’t give
A silver glass a glance or a break.