Poetry For Our Time

Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason. -Novalis

For Degas

with one comment

When you watched those dancers,
were they flattered?
Being the performers that they were,
did they drink in your attention
and delight in your adoring eyes,
flirting with your manhood?

Perhaps they showed off a little,
stretching their long legs a little longer
and pointing their toes a little harder
and holding in their stomachs more than usual.

Or were they disturbed by your scrutiny-
your hands clenched a little too tightly
over your lap,
your obvious eyes relieving them of their costumes,
your lips turned up into the curl
of a sneer
of a man who knows what he wants?


Written by Ashley

February 24, 2009 at 7:20 pm

Posted in Poem

One Response

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  1. I like this. I have always, always wondered about that. Thank you for putting it into a poem!


    February 25, 2009 at 1:09 am

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