Dear Jane
I had a poem for you: a giant metaphor
that had the line ‘the hills still wear
the thin smile of home’, but near Tyndrum
a man ate it. He had been drinking
packs of organic oatmeal stout,
the kind you get in tartan shops,
and had grown unnerved, increasingly,
about the timberline, often leaving
the train to stare distraught
at distant mountain tops. When he ate
the poem he seemed calm for a bit,
but then was violently sick.
I suppose that was a metaphor too,
but not the one I wished for you.
I had a poem for you: a giant metaphor
that had the line ‘the hills still wear
the thin smile of home’, but near Tyndrum
a man ate it. He had been drinking
packs of organic oatmeal stout,
the kind you get in tartan shops,
and had grown unnerved, increasingly,
about the timberline, often leaving
the train to stare distraught
at distant mountain tops. When he ate
the poem he seemed calm for a bit,
but then was violently sick.
I suppose that was a metaphor too,
but not the one I wished for you.
5 comments:
I was NOT sick, you lying twat.
God, you're so literal.
Hello. This post is likeable, and your blog is very interesting, congratulations :-). I will add in my blogroll =). If possible gives a last there on my blog, it is about the Home Broker, I hope you enjoy. The address is http://home-broker-brasil.blogspot.com. A hug.
No, I am not literate. You lying twat.
Home broker? Is that like Estate Agent, or Home Breaker, or Stevie Kneel, or A Home Less Broke?
What kind of sick & listless fans do you attract, 'Shug'?
Incidentally, Kendal has a hostel, & cheap. May 3rd? Bring camera & poem-fodder. Er.....
sounds good. i'll bring a side salad this time.
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