I wrote a poem once
airing and burying
secrets and shame.
A poet engaged with me
about his job in waste management.
He had some good points.
I wrote a poem once
about a tragedy and loss of life.
Later the death toll went up
and my poem got better.
Not because of the greater tragedy
but because the title was niftier.
A cutesy zed on the salon
called Cutz.
I wrote a poem once.
It feels rather misogynistic now.
I’m sure I had my reasons.
I wrote a poem once
the reflection of a clock
in a window out to darkness
backwards going.
My lecturer.
Precision Germanic.
I wrote a poem once.
I was desperately broken and lost.
Its meaning was lost on everyone
who found their own.
Quantum tunnelling though my pile of shit.
Unpredictably better on the other side
than I’d intended, or am deliberately capable of.
A stopped clock right
twice a day.
Then there was that other poem.
The poem I didn’t write.
I didn’t didn’t write it once.
I didn’t write it over and over again.
How do you put a date on when you didn’t write something
about something someone says didn’t happen?
The German Instrument of Surrender was backdated,
and time knows.
The German references make me think of the research into what was being called. ‘The Nazi Bell’. Any correspondence to that?
It doesn’t – but looks like a fun rabbit hole to explore some time 🙂
I really like the use of refrain here, I am currently exploring this devise in a poem of my own, and it’s enjoyable to see it employed here effectively.