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Sonnet to the Insurance Man


To the Insurance Man

Wallace Stevens said it best, that making
widows wince the quest, in a way a measured,
balanced jest, but mostly just a threshold test.
A whim for wistful smiles to change, a chance for cracks to come in play, a place of strangeness on a day the bagman shows another way.

But what of the widow’s loss of mind?
Alone in spirited decline, fixed in
reveries of a crazy kind, tipped
on edge on high, without Ramon to hold
her slide, to frozen crystal words implied.

And from the top the scream man sighs,
“An angled round is gods surprise.’


Mike Brady
December 2004/revised 3/17


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