You comment on my poem; I on yours.
"Your rhyme, meter and wit are exquisite,"
I say. You reply, "Yours I revisit
on the net; love how your irony gores."
Now, seated in the bar our chat is light
for hours on synecdoche and stuff'll
spice up a poem and maybe ruffle
feathers. Suddenly, it's time for, "Good night."
And then it dawns on me, the irony,
that our poetry is not what our talk
is all about. Apt metaphors might walk
me through this, but I stumble on blindly.
"I've lots more to say," I say. You reply,
"Okay then; your room or mine." I sigh.
*I've not personally met a Poetry Soup 'commentator,' but I can dream.
Entered in Brian Strand's contest, 'Any Top Twenty Poem', February 6, 2012.
Copyright © John Smith