I came across this photo of Bette and Joan today. And, after reading a few creativity-related articles online, this cheeky, if not slightly bellicose poem materialized. It felt good to put something with a little more edge on paper after completing a rather sad short story yesterday. I've written two stories now in the past few weeks. I still haven't started the monster edits on 'Sillyheart' yet but they are coming. So are the stories. If they are coming, I'm going to write them. There's no rush, right?
So, the poem:
Oh, It Was
Absurd
Oh,
it was absurd that time when I slid across
the
polished floor boards of my old house in my
sock
feet and slapped her across the face with an
old
back issue of the Vasser Quarterly. Thwack!
I’m
ashamed to say I tried to apologize with a
note
composed in my childish handwriting but
it
was not received as warmly as it was written.
Oh,
it was absurd the way she tried to discredit
me
in front of all of our friends accusing me of
being
the cause of propaganda poems, posturing.
She
got two thirds of the way through her cruel
and
disparaging diatribe while on speaker phone.
I
don’t know what it was the tone of her snooty
voice
or the cock of her big bonce whatever it
was
made the last straw in me snap and so I swiftly
swatted
her in the most knee-jerk inimical manner.
Her
haughty jowls stretched into a shocked mask –
oh,
it was absurd. I’d take it all back in a heartbeat
but
the expression on her face was priceless.
***
Ready for a little sunshine on my face. I welcome today's commute home just for that.
In propinquity,
Nic
