Sunday, September 15, 2013

Your Sunday Poem

Here's a sly, wickedly savage, wonderful poem to share from a new (to me) poet, Erin Belieu.  Oh, bad king Louis XV,  you're sooo right.

Apres Moi 

is pest, is plague, is
global atrophy, desire
insipid, the single
Saltine in its crumpled
sleeve.  Future of
courtesy balance and
hysterical number,
markets depressed,
a bottomed-out
       Oh yes,
it all goes up,
Kablooey!  Good luck
enjoying those bonfires
with no s'mores!
           Big, BIG
mistake, to make this
life without me.  So
when the horsemen
descend on your
address, ride jiggety-
clop to your
empty door,
can exlain this mess.
I won't live here
anymore.  To you,
I bequeath
a world where cupboards
stick, with nothing left
to creak for.


Sewertoons AKA Lynette Tornatzky said...

A very, very enjoyable read - thanks for finding this!

Alon Perlman said...

“Mais non! Apres vous, mon cher Alphonse!”
It is only a forewarning sprinkle.
She is
very contemporary, in an ageless sort of way
We must have more of her, before the final reckon.

Churadogs said...

Yes, will see what she's got in print.