poem
WRITTEN:
1983, 16 years
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
This is one of the poems which was a principal part of my major preoccupation of 1983, although this one stands apart from all the others in that it is one big anagram. (Another thing I was obsessed with in the upper half of high school.) I do wonder sometimes how I found any time for study (or, if I didn't study, how I passed at all). Unfortunately I didn't keep a copy of the original, but the gist would have been some kind of lovelorn appeal to one of the guys I was seriously keen on, probably the one I refer to as Z.
Yes, this poem is crap. Sorry about that.
There's beer in the air, dead leaves on the ground,
The wind is wet and cold and I don't like it.
Somewhere else, and a fridge hums abstractly
Of strange philosophies, few and far between.
(A notice on the door lists dairy requirements
for the next week.)
I sing a new song, but don't know its words.
The notes were discovered by
The boy with the sister.
Superpeople and Gardenpeople know me,
Learningpeople and Watchpeople don't even see me.
Beastpeople eat Wire Terriers for tea.