By Julian Matthews -
She read a poem I wrote on laundry
And said she liked it
She said I'm prolific
Perhaps if she met me in person, she would know
I smell
and reek of dirty doggerel
and mucky metaphors
I am missing meter and cadence like socks missing their pair—
found under the washing machine a month later
with some bits of underwear
I stink of rhymes prostituted and drenched in cheap perfume
To please daddies, sugary or otherwise
I am a walking pile of a week's unwashed verbiage
Waiting for a line break
To be hung out to dry
And here's me making my last stanza
To separate the wordy whites from the coloured clichés and soppy delicates
So soak it in
Before I dye...
Julian Matthews is a former journalist expressing himself in the pandemic through poetry, short stories and essays. He is published in The American Journal of Poetry, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Beltway Poetry Quarterly, among others. He is based in Malaysia.
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