Poetry Schmoetry
July 28, 2010 
7 Comments
(Originally published January 16, 2007)
As many of you know, I’m taking a poetry class this semester. It was largely a matter of finding a creative writing course that fit my schedule. But I cannot deny my own masochistic tendencies. What’s the fun in taking a 100-level class, if you don’t writhe and squirm three hours a week?
My first poem being due today, last night was a struggle. I attempted to shirk seriousness by starting off like this:
Carbunkle, Margunkle,
Simon and Garfunkle…
Or this:
Pull up your damn pants.
You ain’t no piggy bank.
Cover up that rhinestone thong.
Give them low-rise jeans a yank.
But I’m not confident enough to finish either of those yet, let alone turn them in for a grade and peer review. Here’s what I settled on for my first poem, first draft:
might as well be flower
petals falling, lining our path.
might as well be brightest
white draping, flowing,
trailing yards behind.
takes a glistening wad of gum from his mouth,
places it carefully on the table,
says let’s get started.
he asks will you
say I do?
We did.
He’s chewing again.
“Take her to White Castle.”
But what I hear is
“For the rest of your lives, laugh.”
As you can imagine, that’s a pretty personal stab at poetry. I’m not sure I care to know what anyone thinks of it yet. But feel free to talk amongst yourselves in the comments.
