Email Poem

Your IP Address: 52.15.225.105

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem

The forenoon Show 
 There is a ship anchored close to the shore
in the bay, I wonder what the cook is doing now
perhaps he is chopping onions for frying
with a bit of meat from lunch or maybe he is
                      washing pots and pans while the officers who have
nothing to do play cards in the mess hall.
The crew stand by the railing looking at the shore
and the bright light, eyeing at their watches
when is the cook ready to serve them some grub?
I turn my thought to Julia apparently she was not
funny enough, a day time hostess has to be relentlessly 
hilarious, facile, pretty and dumb.
I wonder how long she will last before a burnout
there many young females dying to get the job.
Exposure, the name in coloured magazines, the interview 
by a sycophantic journalist who let the object prattle one
about their childhood which was hard, interfered with 
by an uncle, endless is the navel-gazing, but the question 
how they got there so fast is not mentioned whatever it was 
it has little to do with talent.

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required