Beatrice Meets Her Dante
I look ahead expressionless, I know
his eyes are on me: I hold a rose in
my left hand, my legs give shape to my gown--
I’m sexier far than those he’s chosen.
She looks all right in her virginal white,
it gives her a distant allure; but I
in red, behind her head, toss him a look
I practice—most men take it as rut-eye.
I fancy them both, Beatrice most;
I play her against the other to win
her heart; in love I may be deceitful--
but only for good, and that’s not a sin.
Thus men and women, in times long ago,
deceived one another--still it is so.
Gerry Hendershot is a retired health statistician turned poet who writes and promotes poetry in Riverdale Park MD.
The Ekphrastic Review
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