Verse In Which The Poet’s New Lover Carves Him Into a Sicilian Puppet I. Verse in Which the Poet’s New LoverCarves Him Into a Sicilian Puppet In Sicily, you paint my Moor’s armor The illustrious gold of a royal gingko In garish fall, my foraging, wide-awake eyes The white of glittering feldspar, Or far-off Andromeda, My just-fashioned irises the entreating green Of Van Gogh’s “The Poet’s Garden.” But my eyes are brown as pennies, I protest To my newly acquired lover, Marco Angelo, Ace woodcarver and able puppeteer Who looks impressively tan and fit (It’s sweltering mid-July) In his Starsky and Hutch t-shirt, While he graces my evolving lookalike With the bull’s-eye gaze belonging To a go-for-glory trapeze artist Or a galloping circus showman: Caro poeta, I’m sure pea-green works better For a daring Moor Or a defiant Saracen. But I thought you were transforming me, Like a modern day Geppetto, Into a hero, a truth-loving, crusading knight, Your very own high yellow Orlando! Well, amico, as you can tell, From the latest phase ofthe pupo, I have changedmy mind. By the way, teasing Marco whispers, Gently tapping my island-brown forehead: Are those brows really yours Or just a Japanese painter’s brushstrokes? Volume 8 No 1 - Page 29
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