St. Joan's Sword In Late Afternoon Sun Poem by John O'Malley

On the way to work each morning you walk by her:
in green grass, face upward, horseless and bronze-armored.

Not once has she glimpsed at your office building
where armed security guards care just about your name.

You step off the elevator, enter a door and dutifully
go through the quotidian order.

Meaning well, you decide to meet an acquaintance
during happy hour.

On the open courtyard, in the five-o'clock sun,
you stop and notice her sword ablaze against a blue May sky,
a defiance ascendant with her sad eyes.