this is what you love: more people
Augh, I'm being such an airhead today, reprinting things unnecessarily, misplacing stuff, my head far far away somewhere. Maybe France.
D.A. Powell is actually a local (to me) poet, but of course I discovered him through the internets. Still, that made it easier to get a copy of his latest book, Cocktails, which this poem is from. The whole thing is done in these rather unusual couplets, full of caesuras and brackets, and I love this one particularly for the wordplay, the sounds and rhythm. (Read it twice to get the feel of it! Read it out loud, even! I grow pushier by the day.) Plus he's got a knack for pop culture references, which work particularly well in this sort of ode to mellowing, to a middle-aged suburbia kind of mindset, but not necessarily in a bad way. And it's the anthem of my inner extrovert (har).
[this is what you love: more people. you remember]
D.A. Powell
this is what you love: more people. you remember
to say "of all the men I know" and "your nice friend kimber"
but it wasn't always so. living in a big shoe and knotslips
in your bed the size of taxes [or texas? you don't read lips
as well you should] some hearing loss due to family
in your ears: homilies and hominy and decidedly no harmony
no wonder the bad seed topped your list of favorite flicks
having that brood crush you down into the mattress: you kicked
one fell out and the other nine said "rollover, rollover."
who could go to sleep with the sound of music? and the hot covers
now you only regret men unbedded. unwedded to your cheek-y
desire to lift strangers from taxis. or texas: why be picky?
but you've gone "gee" in your ratings: shirley temple and madeline
volunteer work. neighborhood meetings. you even bring the gelatine
More like this: A bunch of D.A. Powell poems (possibly not worksafe).
Ugh, this fruit salad is gross; why are they always full of melon melon melon? I would like some strawberries instead please. I'm tired, but I think we're going out for a humpday beer. I wish it were warmer!
D.A. Powell is actually a local (to me) poet, but of course I discovered him through the internets. Still, that made it easier to get a copy of his latest book, Cocktails, which this poem is from. The whole thing is done in these rather unusual couplets, full of caesuras and brackets, and I love this one particularly for the wordplay, the sounds and rhythm. (Read it twice to get the feel of it! Read it out loud, even! I grow pushier by the day.) Plus he's got a knack for pop culture references, which work particularly well in this sort of ode to mellowing, to a middle-aged suburbia kind of mindset, but not necessarily in a bad way. And it's the anthem of my inner extrovert (har).
[this is what you love: more people. you remember]
D.A. Powell
this is what you love: more people. you remember
to say "of all the men I know" and "your nice friend kimber"
but it wasn't always so. living in a big shoe and knotslips
in your bed the size of taxes [or texas? you don't read lips
as well you should] some hearing loss due to family
in your ears: homilies and hominy and decidedly no harmony
no wonder the bad seed topped your list of favorite flicks
having that brood crush you down into the mattress: you kicked
one fell out and the other nine said "rollover, rollover."
who could go to sleep with the sound of music? and the hot covers
now you only regret men unbedded. unwedded to your cheek-y
desire to lift strangers from taxis. or texas: why be picky?
but you've gone "gee" in your ratings: shirley temple and madeline
volunteer work. neighborhood meetings. you even bring the gelatine
More like this: A bunch of D.A. Powell poems (possibly not worksafe).
Ugh, this fruit salad is gross; why are they always full of melon melon melon? I would like some strawberries instead please. I'm tired, but I think we're going out for a humpday beer. I wish it were warmer!