A button
A couple of weeks back we had to write a button poem for our Poetry class. This meant we were given a button and we had to imagine who it had belonged to, what the clothing it sat upon looked like, etc etc. I just came across it again while writing my file, so I thought to share it. I actually think it's pretty nice, even though I'm louzy at poetry 9 out of 10 times.
Here I stand again,
Waiting quietly in line,
Like so many others,
Waiting till the turn is mine.
My thoughts drift off,
While a cold wind picks up,
I button my pink jacket,
Knocking over a coffee cup.
The woman starts yelling,
Her words fall on deaf ears,
I stare at her blankly,
Watching as she perseveres,
In her angry tirade,
She’s calling me names,
I want to tell her to shut up,
And stop playing childish games.
People like her annoy me,
Fiery, opinionated and indecisive,
It often makes me wonder,
What makes them so derisive.
My old man used to say,
That people don’t really matter,
That as long as you believe in God,
I should just let people chatter.
Hindsight is such a beautiful thing,
Often forgot and disregarded,
God has been lost to me for a long time,
An idea I figured is best guarded.
I see myself sitting there,
A quiet and shy mouse,
My parents again are commenting,
Why do I keep going to that house?
That jacket dear, my mother says,
Is really, truly horrible,
Another comment, I hate them loads,
It’s simply, quite deplorable.
Mother dear, I calmly reply,
It wasn’t I who chose this,
If you really want to comment on it,
Call my Boss, I truly insist.
I look down at my jacket,
Thin and pink and old,
Regard it with contempt,
Cursing the icy cold.
I tighten it around me,
Hear something drop to the ground,
I’m watching as a button,
Spins in circles round and round.
Silently it reminds me,
Of Ages long ago,
A silent dream of happiness,
And fairytale stories, you know?
Here I stand again,
Waiting quietly in line,
I’m only one step closer,
Still waiting till the turn is mine.
Here I stand again,
Waiting quietly in line,
Like so many others,
Waiting till the turn is mine.
My thoughts drift off,
While a cold wind picks up,
I button my pink jacket,
Knocking over a coffee cup.
The woman starts yelling,
Her words fall on deaf ears,
I stare at her blankly,
Watching as she perseveres,
In her angry tirade,
She’s calling me names,
I want to tell her to shut up,
And stop playing childish games.
People like her annoy me,
Fiery, opinionated and indecisive,
It often makes me wonder,
What makes them so derisive.
My old man used to say,
That people don’t really matter,
That as long as you believe in God,
I should just let people chatter.
Hindsight is such a beautiful thing,
Often forgot and disregarded,
God has been lost to me for a long time,
An idea I figured is best guarded.
I see myself sitting there,
A quiet and shy mouse,
My parents again are commenting,
Why do I keep going to that house?
That jacket dear, my mother says,
Is really, truly horrible,
Another comment, I hate them loads,
It’s simply, quite deplorable.
Mother dear, I calmly reply,
It wasn’t I who chose this,
If you really want to comment on it,
Call my Boss, I truly insist.
I look down at my jacket,
Thin and pink and old,
Regard it with contempt,
Cursing the icy cold.
I tighten it around me,
Hear something drop to the ground,
I’m watching as a button,
Spins in circles round and round.
Silently it reminds me,
Of Ages long ago,
A silent dream of happiness,
And fairytale stories, you know?
Here I stand again,
Waiting quietly in line,
I’m only one step closer,
Still waiting till the turn is mine.