Helloooo everyone! It’s been a little while since we’ve shared a poem of our own, but we’re hoping to return back to a more consistent posting schedule.
For more information on the ghazal, you can click here.
Before then, you’d mean it when you asked about me, my day’s middle bits, the stories from we’d forget about entirely were it not for the other, for whom our middle bits for, like that time you spilled hot coffee on that new shirt, about which I warned you against wearing that Monday morning, On your busiest day of the week, and by then I knew about how especially sweaty you get on Mondays, from all the extra Coffee you drink, and sweat’s potential to ruin things, but about which you swore the new shirt would make you immune-- the button down was a linen-cotton blend, but only lasted about an hour and forty minutes with you, which you’re sure Isn’t about the button down, or even the stain, it’s about Your mother’s obsession with synthetic fabrics, nylon’s effect on the skin over time, about how in the long run, you’ll save money by spending on fabric And everything all evens in the end, which you’d laughed about until this very shirt. What does it mean? You ask me, and then it’s my turn with the stain, to spin about it's significance, and I say it means you love your mother, who is satisfied by agreeability the end of polyester, and about which we should probably all care more when I think about It, which I certainly did, when I’d ask about you and mean it, before then.
Thanks for reading Good Grief.
Have another poem or two. Or ten. We’ve got lots of good stuff.