SHADOW SELF

A poem for the silhouette.

SHADOW SELF
by Steve Veasey

Hark! The gloaming doldrums of Big Ben;
needle and thread dangled from his teeth.

Wendall Darling dedicated to his craft:
master tailor with a steady hand.

Hooking the foot’s soul,
embroidering a shroud.

The prick was a tender massage–
erecting a bespoke petticoat.

This garment never-never gets alterations.
“Clean splits are easily sutured.”

Clasping a Monopoly thimble tight–
gave him a kiss. (It was only a kiss!)

Left him in a daze,
but I think he liked it–

and

Peter Pan is in the corner
getting stitches.