A Repertoire

If I could only have a repertoire,
I would polish it like a vintage car
And hold it up to people from afar,
Then leave the pages enticingly ajar.

If I could only have a résumé,
A bronzed list, I presume a
Something-like-a-tomb, a
Headstone etched with a broom, a

Time for you and me to sail
The converging seas, memories frail
And pooling in, forming mocking eyes with ripples,
And the rain pelting insatiably as it stipples

With some acerbity, which foments
About a few wonderful moments
And complains it can't see my repertoire,
Which is getting blurry from afar,

Some could maybe see the contents from ajar,
On a man, a silly childhood scar.
If not, what elements would have been missed?
What chemicals would have seared and hissed?

And if the rain revs up with a clamor,
And tapers, then a torrential stammer!
Would they think it adulterated,
Divinely meddled and water-plated?

Would it be that some god did tamper --
For it to fall without a damper?
And could you appoint the list some merit --
Before the wind does have to tear it?

What would be there, of accomplish,
In a sidelines dish,
Catching dishwater so dingy?
Would the bog be staid and stingy?

And would you think each jewel synthetic
At the headers of the pages, or heretic?
In the primitive love of a lineage,
And get tired, and want to abridge

The antiquity of the recurring amulet,
In the heavy and aging gold beset --
The gold that blinks too much for comfort
Around the hard-to-ignore dirt --

Blinking like an old and secretive man,
Dying with an unimparted plan.
Would you endorse such a detail
From many a résumé's page blank and pale?

And to the illuminated one who achieves,
Let there be coronation by olive leaves,
And let there not be some obscure
Element made so naturally pure.

by loquist62
posted on 05/08/2008