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     Make Us an Offer   

     


by R. S. Gwynn

 

     

 

                      

        

             

   

                      

 


 

  



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. . . a Shriner . . . she was big in Eastern Star . . .
I round a corner, and the minty voice
Fades like the draperies. On the breakfast bar
Their sad shoes gape: $1 TAKE YOU’RE CHOICE.
Having passed up the tôle paint and veneer,
Framed needlepointed slogans edged with lace
In cheerless rooms the relict tried to cheer
With smiles to which it’s hard to fit a face,
I thumb fresh tracts—as if I sought an answer
To what seems clear enough—promising heaven
Or, failing that, a way to live with cancer.
A textbook dated 1937
Holds formulae which still, perhaps, are so,
The brown spots on its pages whispering, “No.”

  
Seniors by R. S. Gwynn

              

 

 

        

 

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