Tonight's Poet Corner: Steel Rosenberg

Steel Rosenburg
by Belinda Roddie

A crisp blue mustache,
quivering,
icy, raw, the hairs of
cigar smoke tinging the corners
like a seared ham. Pork laden
cheeks, sausage lips. Ruddy red
meat with aquamarine fur.
The cooking of the flesh,
but the cooling of age.

Swivel chair. Metal music
playing on a portable radio.
He calls for a board meeting.
Snuffs out the Alec Bradley,
Steel Rosenberg keeps steel roses
in steel vases in his office,
where nothing can grow but the
girth of his own belly,
and dollar bill signs
littering gold weights across his chest,
pinning him down to the floor.