Poetry by William F. Buford

Not a chair to lean on (2004)

When you start to see the whole whirly-pearly roly-poly of it
roiled around tightly against your hard bottles
set up against all the verticals
hard as a snub nose rutted in a tub

look at that mounded oh so lovely lying down lady on her right side with no chair to lean on --
left clear over there on the right looking out for herself
so now she hasn’t a leg to stand on
is she worried? rolled out there like round fruit
nestled deep in her connubial curves

the way the shadows come in to cluster against her
they close in right now to threaten what they don’t see
but still keep themselves busy in backgrounds
curled up away from her, to make themselves out what they’re not:

they know foreground is oh so important to look at
so tangible and wise: as for background
it goes along in its hustle and bustle in secret:
is it looking for oranges? something already there that is
working to give it all shape?

Meanwhile, inside, delighted, secure and infinitely alluring
she gives us her oh so painterly smile

against a square table of
this one bright moment, and me.