|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 much
Bardot as I can mine: It calls me "slag."
I feign indifference although it galls
to 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 I
do today? Just listen to the rain laugh
against the door, wait for damp mail to fall
through the slot to the hall floor, paper spam—
all slick circulars, adverts, curling maps
that star the new tikka take away shop.
I'll nap in my bedsit and dream of posh
tomorrows, deaf to news of global doom,
heel to no demand save my own sour mood.