realistic expectations vs the world's largest frying pan
I'm consistent, you have to give me that.
I take the number three, multiply it by orange
and am astonished by the sum,
which is radishes squared, of course.
When I put wheels on a piece of toast
I expect a twelve string guitar
and into my hands drops a Limoges dish
with a gilded rim and violets.
I sleep in a nest of teacups and socks
and wonder why I wake up sun burnt.
This is the story of my every day,
how I stir the same ingredients
in the same old silver shoe
and stand amazed at the elixir
that pours across my threshold-
a tried and true potion, as reliable
as the moon's ballet.
I take a sip, wait for striped fur
to unfurl down my arms,
when I know that I can only grow
pansies in the furrow of my brow.
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6 comments:
Weirdly enough, I can totally relate to that (dunno what that says about me). Nice to read something that makes me smile so early in the morning.
This was a trip--in a totally wonderful way...the images are bold and vibrant and linger...fun stuff!
This is really great - how the speaker constantly subverts even the weirdest of expectations. The whole thing is absurd and well-juxtaposed with the "every day."
And I admire the ordinary disclosure: "This is the story of my every day," in the middle of your poem, as a kind of afterthought amid all this casualness.
And as quirky the riffs are, I'm delighted with the closing rhyming couplet, just to say you can do that formal thing too, amid all the other chaos. What a fun treat!
this is a beautiful piece. i'm speechless, and this is rare for me. thank you for posting it.
My kind o' poem!
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