The Last Film. A Poem By Steve Klepetar

 
The last film we saw was about a house
in the woods, with an owl circling..
 
After, you said you saw a painting once, in a museum
in some back street, with a Roman god
 
parked in front – a house with a circling owl
whose white wings stretched beyond the canvas.
 
Its wrinkled face tickled your eyes, but the house
itself looked small and broken –
 
crumbling with rotten boards and holes,
windows cracked and great trees dripping
 
above a derelict roof. You stopped for coffee then,
small, pale hands warming around the cup,
 
then bounded down uneven marble stairs just as
snarling guards ushered patrons out into the glowing night.

 
 
SteveLadysmith
 
 
Steve Klepetar’s work has appeared worldwide, in such journals as Boston Literary Magazine, Deep Water, Expound, The Muse: India, Red River Review, Snakeskin, Voices Israel, Ygdrasil, and many others. Several of his poems have been nominated for \Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize (including three in 2015). Recent collections include Speaking to the Field Mice (Sweatshoppe Publications, 2013), My Son Writes a Report on the Warsaw Ghetto (Flutter Press, 2013) and Return of the Bride of Frankenstein (Kind of a Hurricane Press).
 
 

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