Slouch

I don’t like the way the branches slouch,

my grandfather would have said.

It shows a lack of moral fibre.

Grandfather did not approve of droop

though I think he could have cut the branches

some slack.

The best people slouch at times.

Oscar Wilde certainly did though he was no slouch.

And Tilda Swinton and Anne Hathaway were spotted

slouching at the Golden Globes.

I like the way Fridays slouch towards the weekend.
Poems should slouch a little too.

They should not appear cinched and pained

as if wearing a tight pair of underpants.

pic courtesy of Wikipedia

Recent Sighting

Pounding the pavements of Portland,

grim, gaunt , hunch-backed,

Matthew,

no singing, cheery, Disney

hunchback of Notre Dame

but a

bandy-legged, bushy eyebrowed,

Quasimodo, orange vis jacket

looks like an angry bee.

If My Poem had Long Hair

If my poem had long hair

dyed black

& a voice

gorge deep

& musky honeyed

as Chris Hemsworth

you’d listen

If it had abs

biceps

a chiselled face

like The Rock

you’d pay attention

if my poem was lean

& loose

exuded menace

you’d come onto it

so, baby, couldn’t you

close yr eyes

yr ears

& imagine?