but my ear is only half open to the drone
of percentages due to land on chewing gum
and vapes, communion wafers and negligées,
on tinfoil, snowploughs, and gym equipment.
Until, among all this, plus tents and motorcycles,
the newsreader says there will be tariffs on poetry.
I drop my fork, loaded with pear and melon chunks,
and yelp, 'A tax on poetry?' then a farm flashes onto
the screen, and I see hens upon hens upon hens.
Nincsenek megjegyzések:
Megjegyzés küldése