Spring 1960 • Vol. XXII No. 2 Poetry |

Tune for a Wire Menagerie

 By the nanny fire, nigh a hundred, grandma rides her rocking chair and reins her   eyes among the flames to seems to  be and ne'er has been or might have passed perhaps. Her mantlepiece menagerie   of wire and nylon animals  rest easy now that day has wound its downing wane: their keys are cold and fastened   in their fantasies of fur. The  cat that purrs, the bear that swigs its mug of driest beer, even the jumping chimp   no longer begs with ratchets. Come,  Nanny, come wind the wind! The winter is over, the guests of summer arrive   tomorrow to witness your playthings  pother and pottle; to bellow with belly gusts; to chuckle and pucker you   on your wrinkles, pondering love.  Come, Nanny, come, up on the mantle, and key us to gallop the doldrums down   and whicker the wonders away.

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Party Game

By Lewis Turco

 By the nanny fire, nigh a hundred, grandma rides her rocking chair and reins her   eyes among the flames to seems to  be and ne'er has been or might have […]

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