William A. Greenfield Verse-Virtual 2016 June

June 2016

After a long career in public service, I am now semi-retired and reside with my wife and a spaniel named Phoebe in the Catskill Mountains of New York. I'm a fairly good poker player and a fairly terrible golfer. My poems have appeared in The Westchester Review, Carve Magazine, The East Coast Literary Review, and other journals.

Cleavage

The spring equinox triggers this primitive ritual,
not unlike the spreading crest of a courting peafowl.
And the summer overflows with decadence as I
ponder the regnant powers of an ancient monarch
who could simply order a lascivious unveiling.
I can’t refute the craving, like being in a bakery
on Sunday morning and wanting to sample one
of everything, or in this case, two of everything.
If it was my neighbor’s new luxury import, I
could stare in awe at the smooth curves and
fine lines, but these proud showings are to be
seen but not seen, admired only from a safe
distance, limited to an imagination. As the days
grow colder, these archaic practices will wane,
as will my struggles to maintain eye contact.

Editor's Note: I decided, after much consideration, not to post a photo to suit this poem :)