Strangers wander about outside my window glass (gift daydreams to hurry along my time clocked in)
Roomie erupts into our pod post-trek home (every 4:57pm, I – a dog – wonder at her return)
Dad scribbles out his end of week “thought you’d get a kick out of” list (always squints to read on call)
Partner hoists arms to let me settle on their chest before sleep (I regale, they smile, I quiet, they breathe)
Me, myself, I pick how to spend each second (growing weeping willow, who will sway or stay?)
On the shores of Gitchie Goomie
I outlived my silent roomie
But now I've not a thing to say
I miss my roomie every day
OK, here's the take. Actually it was a steal. My roommate took my stash. I need to hash it out. Yet, it a deal already gone. Just like a three and half minute pop song. So here is a retake. Like a record production. Especially for me. So, it out and about. Not a shout out though. Not yet. More a block around and a new stash found. Like with the deal, there a hide for a now. Especially for a sit back. For a lay low. For a good blow. More like a intake. Yet, there's no application. Not yet. So, that's the short end of the stick. To be blunt, there's no blame game. Where my roomie has to hide. It's a no shamer. Yet, there’s a head's up Involved. A solve for today. Like behind a mexican hat on the wall. A hall pass for a stash. It's the best bet for a not yet. I feel legit. But my stash isn't. Not yet!
Jocelyn, secretly puzzelled
over how she could marry a man named Morely.
Morely the moaner she secretly called him.
As most women do,
she understood the perversities of men
She made leeway for their impracticality,
their visions, their unfulfillable dreams.
She sometimes felt life would be better alone
or with a pragmatic, well anchored female roomie.
It was just too laste for that she was thinking
as she stirred the pasta to keep it from sticking.
She knew that Morely could be driven
to do the dishes after the meal.
Then they would drift off into the evening.
wafting through the rafters
or through the cracked door window
it is sent ashamedly
yet at the show last night
they passed it freely
like conversation
and better than
a simple
handshake
the music was mellow
the lavatories scarce and
the beers and hot dogs
plenty
it helps to flow
relax and perhaps
make lovely lapses of
thought
judgment
time and bide
such trivial endeavors
i remember the girl with the
tattoo of the orange sun
and blue waves
on the tramp stamp
who was the one who
introduced me to ways of
Sappho
(and her lez roomie)
who let me know how
sweet
the buddha tasted when
from a fingertip staring
at the fishtank
and wondering if the tat
would heal after the hot tub
at Catalina Island
when the blond
used all the hot water
taking a sexy shower
with her
2 hour
boyfriend
Still
we strive past that to almost
midnight on a year that
reminds me of the rest
just with less
punctuation remains in the inane
and when I am alone with you
I feel like I want to die all over again
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.