By Connie Andes
I dreamed the Pope —
dead pontiff — working crowds
in St. Peter’s Square sun
then awakened late for breakfast
with five businessmen, dining
on my parents’ porch that wasn’t our porch
hesitantly, Peggy suggested
a makeover, but her best-friend-eyes
said you’re too old for waist-length-hair
thus mother regained meaning
laundering her clothes
as I bit back instructions
and life’s a mirage
spilled into dreams, while
every thing dies in its time.
Connie Andes lives in Lawrence. Poet’s Showcase features work by area poets.
Submit your poetry via e-mail with a subject line of Poet’s Showcase to firstname.lastname@example.org or send typewritten (not handwritten) submissions to Mindie Paget, 645 N.H., Lawrence 66044, attn`: Poet’s Showcase.