In celebration of National Poetry Month I’ll be writing and posting a poem a day for the entirety of April. No haikus. Nothing about wheat, unless fermented. All of the poems can be found here.
The playwrights held hands in the corner
so we’d know they were clever and in love.
The waitress feigned contentment,
but beneath the lie of her smile,
was an absence unfulfilled by tips or cocktails.
The captains played pool,
and danced to long forgotten soul.
Cigarettes and forgiveness filled the room
with smoke and laughter.
Tonight, they declared, there would be no profanity.
The professors exchanged a gunfire of ideals,
as their teaching assistants stroked their thighs
and drank away the notion of fidelity.
The widows and divorcees laughed with their wine,
massaged the error where their wedding rings once lied.
