Tonight's Poet Corner: The Parlor

The Parlor
by Belinda Roddie

trophy antlers
hanging
from the ceiling fan
they are
as tall
as sycamore trees and
just as full

he plucks a feather
from his warm wool cap
places it
in a small groove
where branch meets
potential
blossom

"ain't they a beaut?"
coughing whiskey like
fine powder
rouge
across the bearskin rug

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