by Martin Galvin
When working on a war poem,
Don’t write in a pink book
Or, if you must do so, use
A livid red greasestick
Or a shade of black
Sufficient to overwhelm
Any hint of sentiment.
No blush either, to simulate
A dream of woman writing
A poem at night in a pink book
Whilst staring into a dark pool
For words that will jump out
Of the water into her mouth,
Lured by the lipstick,
down her gargled throat
and, in due course, through
her fingers to the pen, poised
as a weapon over paper.
In no case, let the words
be pink, which will not hide
the blood, blackening as it ages.
Martin Galvin has recently had poems accepted by Poetry East, Commonweal, Ekphrasis, Out of Line, Petroglyph and Natural Bridge among others. He is the Book Review Editor of Poet Lore. His books include Wild Card, which won the Columbia Prize for 1989, judged by Howard Nemerov.
