Oct/Nov 2018 Poetry Special Feature |
Ennui with Amphisbaenic Rhyme
While fishing for my mirror's praise, I chum
with my most sultry moue—project as muchBardot as I can mine: It calls me "slag."
I feign indifference although it gallsto have the glass put on airs like some nob.
I tell you what—I'll settle for some bon-hommie, though false as a starlet's eyelash:
I'll crook my pinky, wonder, What shall Ido today? Just listen to the rain laugh
against the door, wait for damp mail to fallthrough the slot to the hall floor, paper spam—
all slick circulars, adverts, curling mapsthat star the new tikka take away shop.
I'll nap in my bedsit and dream of poshtomorrows, deaf to news of global doom,
heel to no demand save my own sour mood.