While rummaging around for my password to get in to my blogspot (sometimes things fall out of the gray matter that were once caught in it) I came across a poem that I'd written in my doctor's waiting room waiting to be serviced by the people in white. I make no apologies...my profile said that one of my interests is "attempts in poetry" and in an attempt one does not have to really accomplish anything or win, one is merely attempting something. After all, if I were single I could attempt to become Miss Hawaiian Tropic of 2009 or president, or whichever one seemed to be the best option at the time.
I can safely assume that this small offering will never be studied in the hallowed halls of Yale or Slippery Rock. There will be no poet laureate nomination arising. But say what you will, it is not for the esoteric it is for the masses and long live them.
It needs no title.
Someone let one
in the waiting room.
Clouds of stink hang
like some bad perfume.
No one's looking as if
they had a part-
but if IT were ice cream
the flavor would be FART.
SHP
01/15/2007
shoo-wee and my apologies to Robert Frost
No comments:
Post a Comment