Gedicht
Eleanor Wilner
A DOGGEREL
A DOGGEREL
A DOGGEREL
Quel dommage, no morefromage; our champagne flutes
are dry, for we drank
the champagne when the water
failed, and the light pales now
as the dust drifts in,
for the French doors’ glass
is smashed and gone,
the veranda’s a crater,
and just today,
though it hurts to say,
the puppy—we ate her—
we were out of paté.
© 2005, Eleanor Wilner
From: Poetry, Vol. 186, No. 4, July/August
Publisher: Poetry, Chicago
From: Poetry, Vol. 186, No. 4, July/August
Publisher: Poetry, Chicago
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A DOGGEREL
Quel dommage, no morefromage; our champagne flutes
are dry, for we drank
the champagne when the water
failed, and the light pales now
as the dust drifts in,
for the French doors’ glass
is smashed and gone,
the veranda’s a crater,
and just today,
though it hurts to say,
the puppy—we ate her—
we were out of paté.
From: Poetry, Vol. 186, No. 4, July/August
A DOGGEREL
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