Monday, 21 April 2014

Pathetic poet writes again (with apologies to all with a talent for verse)

The empty chair

Tapping off her ashes, 
wondering if passion’s
ever going outta fashion.
Chews her lip.

Looking cross the table, 
thinks she might be able
to write her modern fable
(dunks a chip).

The empty chair dares 
her to stay unawares
of fellow drinkers’ stares,
as she waits.

Ten-thirty he said he’d meet her 
in the caff with that old heater.
(Thinks: really should be neater.
Hates blind dates.)

The crossword lies completed, 
but her hopes stand - defeated.
Maybe she was too conceited?
Re-reads the ad.

“If you can sit alone just sipping 
cold coffee or idly dipping
into your book, as I'm clipping
from your hair,
you might be the lady for me.
The one I’ll woo for no fee
for all the world to see.
Meet me there.”

Ninety cold minutes gone astray. 
No, he can’t have lost his way.
Guess he wants to screw up her day,
but he won’t.

You needs dates with inept poets 
who’re so bad but just don’t know it?
Last time she’ll sink so low - it’s
time to go.

1 comment:

  1. A man who proves himself unreliable before the heroine even meets him deserves to be "honored" in a so called "pathetic poem". Very apropos.