Miramar, My Miramar

Miramar, My Miramar


Miramar, my Miramar,

marriage is an endlessly rolling sea,

a mill on a much-washed tablecloth

that never runs out of peppercorns,

and you’ve got to stop, stop, stop pretending

you can change armadillos into fuzzy ‘highland terriers

or induce porcelain display plates

to cough, wheeze, and stammer

whenever they’re horizontally stacked

in plain and open view of my forty-second wife.


William C. Blome


William C. Blome writes poetry and short fiction. He lives wedged between Baltimore and Washington, DC, and he is a master’s degree graduate of the Johns Hopkins University Writing Seminars. His work has previously seen the light of day in such fine little mags as Poetry London, PRISM International, In Between Hangovers, Fiction Southeast, Roanoke Review, and The California Quarterly.

Post a Comment

Previous Post Next Post