the room reeks of vanilla
candles, or is it stale
ice cream?
i pull the curtains
apart, let sunlight in.
it’s the debris
of a pity party.
women! i sigh!
when will we learn!
quietly as i can
pick up acres of tissue
carpeting the floor.
at least the girls had
style! the wine was fine,
and real French takeaway
from pristine white boxes
embossed in gold.
but the story they told
was same old, same old.
heartache for a lover,
lost to a woman
who had never known
chafing.
she had a gap
between her thighs.
and an IQ that matched
her shoe size…
the coffee machine
signals. it’s time
to save the girls.
mix pink pajamas
and dark Arabica
get bleary-eyed questions:
“where were you?”
“what’s with the smile?”
“please don’t say
Krishna saves.
what do i care for savings
when my current account feels so fucked?”
true. true. all true.
but as the raspy voiced
high priest of rock says,
‘the times they are a…’
“wake up dahlings,
binging on pain is passé.
we girls have to work smart.
we need to learn to call in.
report that pain.”
“don’t waste time
mourning the bastards.
or thinking of revenge.
you really want them back? not!”
“so flash your Visa
Mastercard even.
receive flowers,
Darcy on DVD.
pink Champers to start afresh.
better than calling agony aunties
or crying for mom.
call woesBgone dot com
and outsource the damned pain.”
candles, or is it stale
ice cream?
i pull the curtains
apart, let sunlight in.
it’s the debris
of a pity party.
women! i sigh!
when will we learn!
quietly as i can
pick up acres of tissue
carpeting the floor.
at least the girls had
style! the wine was fine,
and real French takeaway
from pristine white boxes
embossed in gold.
but the story they told
was same old, same old.
heartache for a lover,
lost to a woman
who had never known
chafing.
she had a gap
between her thighs.
and an IQ that matched
her shoe size…
the coffee machine
signals. it’s time
to save the girls.
mix pink pajamas
and dark Arabica
get bleary-eyed questions:
“where were you?”
“what’s with the smile?”
“please don’t say
Krishna saves.
what do i care for savings
when my current account feels so fucked?”
true. true. all true.
but as the raspy voiced
high priest of rock says,
‘the times they are a…’
“wake up dahlings,
binging on pain is passé.
we girls have to work smart.
we need to learn to call in.
report that pain.”
“don’t waste time
mourning the bastards.
or thinking of revenge.
you really want them back? not!”
“so flash your Visa
Mastercard even.
receive flowers,
Darcy on DVD.
pink Champers to start afresh.
better than calling agony aunties
or crying for mom.
call woesBgone dot com
and outsource the damned pain.”
3 comments:
I like the eclectic use of the words 'fuck','bastards','french','krishna', 'passe', 'wine', 'chafing' etc in a single poem. Was this poem computer generated ? If not, WTF is it about ?
Hey ! Loved it :) I wish to enroll :)
Dear anon - this is about female bonding, and yes very eclectic. Comps are not designed to create as well as a woman does.
Manisha,
Dat one was a good poem in a modern way. I particularly liked the "the story they told was same old, same old" --reflecting that it is d same story for women "gap between her thighs"--a good euphemism without getting vulgar.
"Outsource the damned pain" is a humorous conclusion in line wid current times.
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