Windsor Knot
Do you remember how
to tie a Windsor knot
the way your father taught you
on graduation day
in eighth grade
the man who wore a tie
twice perhaps at most--
on the day he got married
and the day he was put to rest,
the same tie for both events.
Then almost every day for 40 years
you tied that Windsor Knot
because office attire required it.
Now you haven't worn a tie
since the day of your retirement.
You'll need that knot
twice more for certain--
as pall bearer for besotted
Uncle Pat and for yourself
the day you're buried.
Both days your Windsor Knot
had better pop out right
or the ghost you don't believe in
may drop by to show you
one last time how to tie it.
It Happened at the Art Institute
"Tell Pablo I cannot see!"
says the man in the Picasso painting
as I pass by, program in hand.
The man has a hairy nose
where each of his ears should be.
And his ears have become a butterfly
where his nose ought to be.
I paid top dollar to see this exhibit.
The man in the painting rants on:
"Pablo has done me wrong!
The eye in the middle of my forehead
has a detached retina.
I need a new eye so I can watch
you and the other voyeurs
roll your eyes and laugh at me.
Tell Pablo I cannot see!"
One, a nun, has
her transfer in her hand.
She's silently praying.
Another, a hooker, has
her income in her purse.
She's lighting a cigarette.
Another, a mother, has
her mind on her children.
She's going to work.
None of them knows what
they share this morning:
ova ripening.
Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri.
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