Since there is little to do here at my aunt's boarding house..(all attempts at escape a failure, no pubs nearby, no vistors *coughs and glares* ) I have taken up writing poetry to pass away the long, long hours. My first subject being the young lady who frequently hovers about, Miss Saffron... something or other. something with letters and such....it escapes me at the moment...
I'm taking a contemporary approach here...all that ryhming business may be suitable for maiden aunts sitting at lace-doily covered tables with ostrich quills, but not Phineas Matova, man about town and poet at large!!
"Saffie, old girl"
Little beigey lady
With your hair so beige
And your dress so beige
You are like a stalk of wheat
Waving in the sun
Your eyes are like two shiny buttons
Sitting neatly in your head
I am most glad they are there
Because it would be a tragedy
If they were not.
For hours you sit,
Squinting at your embroidery
and your knitting
And your books.
Thank you for the scarf, by the way.
No applause necessary. I shall not forget all of you when I am Poet Laureate.. *beams*
1 comment:
My goodness, Mr. Matova, that poem is...remarkable. Yes, let's go with "remarkable." A fine word. Reading it made me feel as though I understood you better. At least in the sense of wanting a drink badly.
Cheers!
Post a Comment