Maybe You Just Need More Wine

“You have a certain rancid charm, like Camembert,”
She said to me. “I love the way you'll make a joke,
Then leave before we understand. I love the little
Pricks you give to little pricks puffed up with
Self-importance, and I sometimes like your poems,
When they're not too bleak. That's the problem.
I'm afraid. For all your clever conversation,
And your courtesies, you are the grimmest man
I've ever known. I've savored you, like Camembert,
But one can eat so much of it, and one can have so
Much of you that one will become queasy, and
Declare she's had enough.”



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 18 times
Written on 2010-12-13 at 15:21

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