A Poetic Retelling (Very Unfortunate)
This is a poetic retelling of an athletic
Event (a race)
That breathtaking
Nerve racking
Repetition
On a circle (tiring)
I don’t dream of things like this
Unless I’m an insomniac
I don’t deny that’s what I want
(because) it’s wretched
I don’t deny what’s dirty (just)
Because it contains dirt
Which, in a bucket, silently sits
For a tornado to topple
No, (I) don’t silently sit—ever,
Well, anymore, anyway.
-
This is a poetic retelling
Of an unfortunate
(a political)
Event.
I remember when the numbers at the gas station were closer
Together.
Mom says they used to coincide.
Dad thinks the higher one
Used to be the lower one
At a time
This is a poetic retelling,
Very unfortunate.
-
This is a poetic retelling of a
Glorious (a daydream)
Discovery—very secretive
I was walking along the beach
When I thought of you
I was walking along the beach
Until I found a shell—
One that made me think of you;
It was one I knew you’d like
but
I had to get off that beach!
God knows what the surfers do
when the tide comes in at midnight
God knows what the lifeguards do--
and forgets,
so I come home to you
my seashell girl
sick in bed again
to tell you stories (very unfortunate)
about the beach
about seashells
and about life
the one you can't seem to really live--
you don't feel like listening to;
again.
so it's like i'm telling stories to myself
and it's like I'm slowing down this train
when all I want is to reach this destination--
as quickly as possible.
Copyright © Brooke Wolfe | Year Posted 2007
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