Poetry: How Not to Send Out a Poem
So, then, I slip into sweats, you know,
Torn pants splattered with mustard,
Stains on knees from Cheesy Corned
Clichés chowed down two weeks ago.
T-shirt, sweat moons and tears,
proclaims,
“I need, I breed; therefore, it’s art.”
Swine of a poem penned, I jot blarney,
Though I yearn for choice
Cuts:
Arty Sestina, please call, ask me
Out...
I sigh and sink,
Deep into the La-z-Boy
And click on FOX 39.
Three a.m.
M*A*S*H.
I wallow in sweat and Verbose farts.
Gamy
Modifiers bunch around my ankles;
Spitting out Verbal grunts, I shake
Bristled hair without a point, passing
Adverbial gas because it feels so
good;
Who’s here to care?
Glomming on buttered Redenbacher’s,
Greasy Similes slide down, pimples erupting
On puns.
Pop one for the ad libber...
Ah, yes, I shall surely die in this
chair.
Alas!
The Suicide Song fades…
My phone dings –
Sestina texting!
“You wanna go for a Ghazal,
With extra cheese?”
Pregnant pause.
“And a Tanka, too?”
Waiting for Sestina…
Waiting for Sestina…
Waiting for Insult…
“What’s a Ghazal without a Tanka?”
“LOL!”
“With lots of foam.”
“LOF!”
“Okay, then. Pizza Parody in six/three?”
(That is, six
Six-line stanzas and one three-line envoi,
Hold all Imitations).
“I’ll be Rondeau, ASAP.”
I slip the device,
Under worn, Epic T,
Between two big boo boos.
I roll off the chair,
Waddle out –
Ballooned,
Word played.
_____________
“How Not to Send Out a Poem,” © copyright 2003 - present, Jennifer Semple Siegel, may not be reprinted or reposted without permission.
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