Fetid Phrase

..

 

This poem is a houseguest
who won’t leave. A cleaver
of phrase, a raised rash
that makes you wanna
scratch off your own face.

It’s a persistent pertussis,
a whoop and a cough and
a violent violet sneeze. It’s
naggling and niggling and
loitering in the eaves.

This poem has a bent scent
that won’t rinse, a strange
dyspeptic odiferous gist
that brings a grimace,
nostrils grieved.

This poem needs kicked
out on the street, needs
to meet a fresh friend or
two, get used to the new
car smell of tomorrow.

Tell it
it can no longer linger;
give it saltwater, inky fingers,
and send it on its way
through sky and sorrow.

 

..
prompted by Poetic Asides


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One Response to Fetid Phrase

  1. Susan says:

    How surprisingly intolerant to the rotten house guest. And it’s fun. It reminds me of the Ben Franklin aphorism that guests and fish stink after three days! My favorite phrases are:
    ” This poem has a bent scent
    that won’t rinse, a strange
    dyspeptic odiferous gist …”

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