Esther Greenleaf Murer

Gun the metal, pedal to the floor, and around the bend!
Don't give a thought to what lies in store around the bend.

Mademoiselle from Armentières, the belle of World War I, 
had the gift of driving an entire corps around the bend.

The Hidden City, cut off from the world for centuries:
you'll find it neither on the straight road nor around the bend.
Wander through the maze of shrubbery on the palace grounds,
wondering if you'll meet the Minotaur around the bend.

Even if the star-nosed mole can't see where it's going,         
our lawn is proof that it knows how to bore around the bend.

We've maxed out all our credit cards, but we're not worried;
we're sure to find megabucks galore around the bend.

If you hope to sell me things by disrupting my dinner
you are, as I've often told you before, around the bend.

I'm writing a book about my Greenleaf relations;
my working title for this memoir:  Around the Bend.


ESTHER GREENLEAF MURER, an octogenarian relic of the twentieth century, finds the ghazal a congenial form for the way her mind works.  She lives in Philadelphia, and may someday get around to updating her blog at