After Bob (After Yeats)

by Margaret McCann


When you are old and grey and damp with peat
and braids abound from every aspect of your hair,
the stains you stamp upon each step of stair
from bags of candy tied about your feet.

Will give your sole strange shape, a sort of wreath,
as though you bobbed for apples as you climbed
and, fetching few, forsook the rest, inclined
to there abandon those refusing bite of teeth.

Then I, square peg with stare and quizzy squint,
will twirl around in circles to consider, in imitation,
the nature of the roundness of that figure,
all braidy Bob and apple blot and candy print.


Poem copyright © 1995 Margaret McCann


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