Zeke Greenwald: To C–, But Never Delivered
Tim Marshall
To C–, the Classical Greek Ph.D
Your freckles tesselate a tan.
And next to spots tawny sports accrued,
sallow volumes in spots bookish wan
show all the libraries your peruse,
each day you win your doctorate.
Or do they evince your summer tour
where classic language is now ignored;
where in antique sites pigment instates,
except in the contrasted place
where wisdom paley tessellates?
To C–, but never delivered
Perhaps, like the bottom of a pool,
your limpid instep, (see through, rather,)
has veins just like how light construes
garlands from stripes of rippled water.
Or perhaps, like a Polynesian skiff,
your shin is twin and slender ballast,
wearing out its shave, yet frictionless,
fording your skirt with prickling prowess.
Perhaps, the hang of your cavern skirt
billows like the ocean over the earth.
Editor's Note: These poems originally appeared on our old site.
As a poet, Zeke Greenwald has been featured online at Catch and Release by the Columbia Journal. In print in the Opiate. He lives in New York.
