My Poems

whoever came up with the idea that communication could be an art was probably identifiably genius. and died young

To Mr. Cellophane, with tears of... cod

I’m usually pretty decisive about what I write, but I’m not sure if I like this better shorter or longer. So here’s both

This effectively eliminates any phrasing that could be construed as gender-based stereotyping

 

They met in a little café downtown

Under the peeling purple letters that say

Noise.

She rode the freight train to get there but he

Walked there through the fog cut with greyish-white

Snow.

He held the door for her, but she simply

Smiled, for her lips were frozen together –

Thanks.

She sat alone at a splattered table

He wanted to join her but he was too

Shy.

The end… do lament for this poor boy who

Never goes anywhere, he loves to be

Safe.

 

Unless…

 

V2

 

They met at a little café

under peeling letters that say

noise

She caught the last train there

he walked through the blowing grey

ash

He held the door open

she smiled, her lips frozen

shut

He sat alone at a table

wanting to join him, she was too

shy

The end of the lament says

she never goes nowhere, loves being

safe

Thank you