By Wayne Eternicka
Poetry
can be a lot of fun
I
like to throw out words without fearBut I'll have no serious entry for the contest
Because I'll help judge this year
“Last year I wrote a sentimental poem about my time at Nicolet coming to an end, then stayed another year. I feel privileged that I was asked to participate more fully this year by giving my opinion on the best student poem to the faculty judges.”
* * * * * * * * * *
"Meals on Wheels: Upstairs Apartment"
By Ron Parkinson
Every day the same,
quiet, like a church,
chalice of cut flowers,
an offering of mints,
thin sweet smell
of tired perfume.
Timid rubber boots
kneeling, neat and nervous
on mats that say WELCOME.
Never a man to notice.
But once
I saw galoshes,
huge and heavy with buckles
that bellow when you walk,
sprawled wide open,
splattered with mud.
A barn with wild eyed horses,
or an excavation,
jackhammers, concrete and steel.
The mat was thrust forward
for all the hall to see.
The woman's boots
elegant, erect,
leaned over,
nuzzled the galoshes,
blew in his ear,
while he laid back
looked up and down the hall,
surveyed his kingdom,
smiled and settled in.
[See April 6's brief statement about Ron Parkinson.]
