Stone Soup Croutons is a weekly poem I write using lines and impressions picked up from poems overheard from Stone Soup's open mic readers and features. I figure out a title (and sometimes the rest of the poem) later. You can read the other ones I've done since 2015 here. To paraphrase Lorne Michaels, this poem doesn't go up because it's ready, it goes up because it's Friday morning.
Last night was June's last open mic. Stone Soup is not happening next week due to the holiday. It will be nice to rest. I just realized that this week's poem in the second in a row that involves the "you" in the poem dying. Not sure why. Maybe I'll shoot for a third death of the "you" for some kind of triptych/trilogy when I come back on the 11th, but that's not something I can really plan. Thanks for reading.
Be Your Own Effigy
Your biology post-love
is a bus slamming into
your bystanding body.
Girlfriend steps out.
She came all this way
to break up with you.
You've nodded your way
through enough nurses
to know you're screwed,
your heart whipped
by flowers you bought
to mark this day.
Doomed as a two-party
system, as a relieving
rainfall in Miami.
Too long your heart's
be worn in your hair.
You definitely forgot.
Your view of happiness
she sees as a warm gun,
which can make her happy.
Death kneel tune toots
tuba, your face woodcut
carved. If not careful,
you'll look like Jane Eyre's
husband: burnt, blinded,
stumped, a perfect partner.
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| When the new people come back, they don't pick number one... |
Special Thanks to Jennifer Lippay, E.S., John Lane, Gawaine Ross, Ethan Mackler, A. Jay Heckelman, Laurel Lambert, Jan Rowe, Nancy Messom, Julia Vogel and James Van Looy.
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