Waste

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

“Weeping Cherry” by Charles Randall Stanfield

He wasted mornings in his day.  He kissed

Away the moment where he could have set

A sonnet on the cosmos.  He missed

His chance to write a villanelle.  Regret

Made up his noontime.  Then his afternoon

Was harmed by loving nothing with the skin

Of inner thighs.  He found that all too soon

The time to lick beneath a dimpled chin

Had chanced away.  He lost the hairy part

That he desired to twiddle with the tips

Of fondles on his fingers and the heart

He tried to touch by pushing past those hips.

  He could have painted weeping cherry trees.

    He could have pictured pirates plundering seas.

© Phillip Whidden