3. Sylvia Plath Pink

A workman walks by carrying a pink torso.
It is pink, with speckles.

Tomorrow the patient will have a clean, pink plastic limb.
Pink and smooth as a baby.

A funny pink world he might eat
Flickers among the flat pink roses.

The gilt and pink domes of Russia melt and float off
But he is pink and perfect.

David Trinidad Index
The East Village Poetry Web
David Trinidad