Monday, September 7, 2009

Monday, September 7, 2009: Notcot #24680

The Carriage

No matter how gilded and tasseled, the carriage
Looks like a shell. The driver is on full display,
Telling the horse where to turn for the veiled woman
Inside. Discretion is the name of this game—whose
Home will she visit, why will she call on that man
Or woman, does she dare risk a tarnishing of her
Name. The driver knows it all, coolly flexes his wrists
To get the horses to slow, and calls it out like a toast:
Here we are, ma’am, we have arrived!

1 comment

  1. I want to read this as the first page of a regency novel. I often wish there was more poetry in 'regular' novels.


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