Bad Poem
Anything can be excused away,
even a bad poem
Just give it the title, “Bad Poem”
and it won’t matter,
syntax chopped, stilted meter,
improper number of syllables
in each line
A poem with clichés,
a love poem that smears itself
with gooey love and rhymes shamelessly
“Oh, flow, go, so lovely my heart,
my soul, eternity of endless love”
I don’t have to be ashamed
I could even put a valentine in it,
one with lace
This poem could be a knitted cozy over a teapot
and three kittens jumping out of a basket of yarn
It could have a glowing painting of a sunset
over a fake fireplace in a turquoise motel
Now you say that isn’t bad poetry
You can see the sunset
You once wanted your own motel,
would have painted it turquoise
There would have been pink flamingoes and
a swimming pool with a chain link fence,
a free breakfast, white biscuits with margarine patties,
really greasy sausages, coffee with those little white
packets instead of milk
No, this isn’t a bad poem
because it started to be your poem
and your soul is singing through the sands of time
You are throbbing with the joy of finding your true
hand-painted sunset in my poem
You will add white cupcakes with chocolate icing
and sprinkles, the kind that are slightly stale
Because you like them, this isn’t a bad poem
and you can keep adding things
You being the audience and the poem itself
And I too am listening, biting my tongue
—Alice Pero
Posted by dwaber at April 9, 2008 01:25 PM