When the Ashes Settled

She was reading Plath
like a Pomeranian
barking at the trashman.
It was new to her, you see,
but when she reached, "Ach, du,"
the words grew like stalactites
on her lip.  "Excuse me," I said,
flicking them off.
I should have known better;
she was rising from the ashes,
twisting her wings, looking for air.
So I told her to fly:
it was a proposal, that's all.
When the ashes settled,
she was painted above the horizon,
and, brushing myself off,
I yelled after her,
"Thanks, Love!  Keep your head out of ovens!"


(Hot Springs News, 1982; Poems by Poets Roundtable of Arkansas, 1983)