You left your pride in the horrors,
The desolate errors
— Giuseppe Ungaretti
See, evening’s shadow quickly turns to night,
and we are still hungry for love.
*
We are not fecund, not firm, our infirmities even more
bounteous, but we still fancy riding the wild horse!
*
Progress wreaks havoc with courtship,
our life stories reduced: “How I spend Friday nights,
My favorite movies, Six things I could never live without;”
I weep, no good can come of this.
*
Beware, you women, of images of shirtless men baring
bulky bellies, or missing the tops of their heads due
perhaps to a purposeful camera. Shun too the juveniles
sending come-hither messages, secretly wishing to marry
their mothers: No good can come of this.
*
Lo, here is a man with promise,
plan an hour meeting where others congregate;
I lament, I tire: the odds are slim,
and what purpose, this?
*
We are keen for company of a kindred spirit,
the full spray of love’s pleasures.
Pray, what does the Oracle say this day?
Go, see the illuminated screen, swipe right.
Joanne Brown is a strategic communications consultant, writer, and poet. Her corporate work can be found at joannebrown.com, and her poetry has been featured in Persimmon Tree and Evening Street Review.
