[I haven't written lately. I've missed writing. Then I read 1/4 of a good book and writing hit me as I was getting dressed for church. I'll be late, but I don't mind.]
There's no reason to get so dressed up
just to go into town and write "no" on the walls
with the lipstick you keep in your back pocket.
Why we do this, nobody knows,
but it's solidly ours and stolidly grows into
something we do together. Never apart--
both we and (the towntrips and wallwords).
Change.
There's no reason to get so dressed up
just to fight on the porch about how much I drink
or how long you linger and trace circles with fingers
on other men's skin.
Why we do this, nobody knows,
but the way that we argue makes the time slow
and crawl to a halt.
When time-lost momentum
and angry-face tantrums
sub-sequently end, we
fix all the blinds and pull all the curtains
and make love together on the semi-plaid couch.
It's angry and sad but it works, don't you think?
End.
There's no reason to get so dressed up
just to visit your folks in Chestervilletown
where the relatives glisten and shimmer and shine.
Why we do this, nobody knows,
but you, my dear, and that's why it shows
that you wear the pants,
ever since we wrote "no" to the world long ago in that corner of town where the beggars all go.
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I'm not a poet, but I understand that a major power lies in keeping your statements consistent. I helped someone in the writing center with their poetry, and realized this truth.
ReplyDeleteHelping someone with poetry sounds like fun.
ReplyDeleteAnyway. This. This is happy and sad and confused and consistent and haunting and forgotten all at once. I have reasons for that, but I do not have the gift of words. I like the last two lines especially.
Actually when I read it, I thought of Eliot. And I like Eliot's poetry. I don't know if you do (and probably don't particularly care whether you do or don't). But, your use of imagery like this: "There's no reason to get so dressed up
ReplyDeletejust to fight on the porch about how much I drink
or how long you linger and trace circles with fingers
on other men's skin" is what made it concrete while being abstractish poetry.
To put it shortly, I like it.
Thanks, guys. I was reading something well-written and the writing bug bit me while reaching for a suit. The first lines popped into my head and I stepped two feet left and sat down and wrote it. I dithered a bit with the lines to make sure the feel was right, and added the break headings (change and end), but it's mostly a really weird poem.
ReplyDeleteI can see its parallels to Prufrock, now that you say it.