Out of concern for censors and sensitivities, I've placed the word "mount" at the end of the twentieth line. Originally, I used the f-word, which I believe sounds better.
To bitch about falseness, and try to
Imagine, while hovering over
Hors d'oeuvres with oafs, what one
Might acquire to take its place.
Floors made of lustrous, oak-
Patterned plastic, a counter of
Granite, or maybe not, a harem
Of chattering, overweight women,
Who've colored their hair and
Augmented their bosoms. They
Talk about jobs they dislike, but
Do brightly, with rivals, not
Confidantes, glancing at intervals
Over at husbands with crumb-
Speckled sweaters, who've settled
On sports as the topic most easily
Kept up, as each assays asses with
Hope of determining which of these
Women he'd like to mount.
"Is there such thing as sincerity, Ted?"
I choose not to ask. He would not
Understand. He is doing his best
To be pleasant, and he and his wife
Aim to prove that they're worthy of...
Something. Approval of others of
Similar station? How is that
Falseness? I can't say I know,
And I've nothing to put in its place.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 24 times
Written on 2012-12-30 at 13:59
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At a Block Party
No better time than now, I suppose,To bitch about falseness, and try to
Imagine, while hovering over
Hors d'oeuvres with oafs, what one
Might acquire to take its place.
Floors made of lustrous, oak-
Patterned plastic, a counter of
Granite, or maybe not, a harem
Of chattering, overweight women,
Who've colored their hair and
Augmented their bosoms. They
Talk about jobs they dislike, but
Do brightly, with rivals, not
Confidantes, glancing at intervals
Over at husbands with crumb-
Speckled sweaters, who've settled
On sports as the topic most easily
Kept up, as each assays asses with
Hope of determining which of these
Women he'd like to mount.
"Is there such thing as sincerity, Ted?"
I choose not to ask. He would not
Understand. He is doing his best
To be pleasant, and he and his wife
Aim to prove that they're worthy of...
Something. Approval of others of
Similar station? How is that
Falseness? I can't say I know,
And I've nothing to put in its place.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 24 times
Written on 2012-12-30 at 13:59
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text| Texts |
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