Spitting off a gabled roof

23 Jan

Spitting off a gabled roof
by L. Stewart Marsden

Two stories o’er the asphalt drive,
I’ve hung my neck out past the gabled roof,
astraddle of the apexed saddle,
riding top my tall house horse —
aloof of grass and trees and other land-locked things
so tiny and removed —
and raise my arms above my head
without fear or dread.

I look down
and muster spittle round in my mouth
and part my lips and let it drip
oh so slowly —
a liquid bulb
that drops just like a watery bomb
and plops onto the flat black drive below
and splatters with a smatt.

After that I scooch carefully back
and grip the sand-tiled flanks of my steed,
and feel a sudden rooftop breeze
blow cross my face and smile.

There is nothing — absolutely nothing —
Like spitting off a gabled roof.


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