the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Thursday, December 18, 2008

The Anti-Polka-Dot Party

We roast you on your boasts
Like fresh swine caught by the coast
Gagged with an apple
Heaped on a platter
With a sign on its neck reading:

But the language is strange
And we're far too deranged
To keep you from the burning flames.
And all we could do was jeer and jest
As the tears erupted from your hot head
That we put on a spit,
And on it we spat.

So I must admit
That I sang along
With the people who thought
That they knew your song.
We clapped our hands,
And stomped our feet,
And sang out the words
In three different beats.
...But then the music stopped
And the audience stared.

We were wrong all along,
I was wrong all along.

1 comment:

benafito said...

I really like this one. The poem has motion and real continuity in its verses. It just works.