Divorcee 

He mops at his eye, late March, where it's liquefying,
near the nose, that allergy,
                    then stares hard at the poster
freezing a small-girl choir, without pathos,
                    hard, the bane being pollen,
hence the oozing and kitchen towel, no hankie, the
            cheap torn stuff
              pranked with daft slogan
slike 'snort' and 'rump' and 'sneeze'
                and a repeating white-heat moon.