07 February 2018

#7 Love Against a Photocopier

Inspired by

Poem #1101
'The Incident in Ryman's' (by Tim Key)

Chris hadn't seen Tania for about three years
when they bumped into each other in
Ryman's and he forgot her name.
This was very embarrassing, to say the least.
But, typically, Chris talked his way out
of trouble.
And soon he was fucking her against a fax
machine that also photocopied.

Love Against a Photocopier

Some don't like their poetry with fucking
in it. Their words are beetles behind glass
wordplay dance, strict form trance, something lacking
in it. No life, stilted, a poor man's farce.

They're writing, not believing, there's no U
in it. I'd rather fuck in Ryman's than
Milton's cottage. Just a gun with no glue
in it. Poems are not supposed to stand.

Chris and Tania can't write sonnets. No love
for it. To busy fucking, forgetting
sweating up and needing, to lust, or shove
for it. It's still love, however fleeting!

Poetry is not just feet and meter
it's love, against a photocopier.


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