[Originally published on August 9, 2014]
Why bother getting out of bed? It’s not
As if we’re here in season: covered pool
And lounge chairs stacked like firewood as a rule.
I say resort, you think forsaken spot.
I’d like a languid spell before it’s lost
In autumn turbulence: more summer burns
And children, less forlornly piping terns,
With nets across the tennis courts, not frost.
But you prefer to catch things past their prime.
You peek around the backside of the stage,
The undersides of floats; you like to gauge
If spectacle survives its closing time.
Like now, in absentmindedness or gall,
You’re just not looking at me properly at all.
| Copyright © 2015 by Eric Meub Eric Meub, architect, lives and practices in Pasadena. He is the adopted brother of the artist, Susan C. Price. They respect, in their different ways, the line. |  |
I re-ran "Bottom" today because we've reached the...bottom of another year, but, as always, Eric Meub's glinting poems have multiple lines of meaning, even ones in this case that can help us resolve to have a top of a new year. Happy, happy, happy!
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