Acrostic: Outhouse

Once this homestead held many children,
uncles and great-uncles, delicate and stooping aunts
tatting lace all day, needles replacing
husbands who disappeared into Bayonet Woods, never returning,
obsession becoming gems of fine knots
until their men thread wholly into white roses,
sadly filigreed, as the wild roses
edging the outhouse are eaten by beetles.

Paula Bohince
Beloit Poetry Journal
Volume 56, Number 3
Spring 2006

Copyright 2006 by The Beloit Poetry Journal
Foundation, Inc.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.

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