Poem by Patricia Fillingham

Photo by Vincent Ciaccio



Drink Up

The Romantic used to
Join the church,
Get on a horse
And slope off to kill a dragon,
And ten years later
Emerge from that forest to tell
Of his adventures, and he believed.
Where are our dragons?
What knight can count on getting lost
And found again with tales of wonder
That are not refuted?
The forests paths are concrete now,
Lighted by electricty,
And the dragon has become a trick
That is found, like the four-masted schooner,
At the bottom of a bottle.