In which Your Humble Blogger writes a couple of short, goofy blowoff poems making fun of romance novels, bargain books, and, ultimately, herself:
"Upon Reading a Trashy Romance Novel"
Her head eddied with tidal thoughts, her bosom with romance,
She smiled past his confused eyes and said, fumbling with his pants,
"You'll be the planet to my star. I'll pull you close, into my heart,"
Not once aware that lines like that keep stellar bodies far apart.
* * *
I remember that it was my birthday, and I wanted to be sure to write something, even though I had spent most of the day out hiking (and subsequently checking Wes' neck for ticks). For a while, the only metaphor or image occurring to me was the one you see in the third line there. And that? That was a bad metaphor. But once I was able to admit that it was lousy and say exactly how cheesy it sounded, well, then I had an idea I could play with!
The following poem was written the next day, after a trip to Barnes and Noble, where I found in the bargain bin the book that gave this poem its title:
"One Hundred Poems to Touch Your Soul"
Sexual harassment laws
Flay men who'd grab our breasts.
Bouncers will bounce them out;
Our girlfriends scar the rest.
What, then, makes bookstores think
That I would buy and keep
A bargain book that hopes
To touch me twice as deep?
* * *
Please, stay with me. It gets a little better, at least I think it does. I promise.
No comments:
Post a Comment