Conceited men

poetry

Imagine a little switch that
you could just flick
just like that
‘’flick”

and whoever you’re talking
to goes silent
Like a big fat blimp far
far away

Animated
but so silent

As silent as the
night

As silent as grandma’s
Sunday afternoon,
on a quiet week

If I could get that switch
installed,
(giving the handyman a
cold,  beer once
he’s done)

I’d use it on you

everytime

when you refuse to
shut the hell
up.

The Postman

poetry

The confessional poets of the
fifties and sixties wanted you
to know all about their despondence
and what they thought of the
holocaust.

I’m not really that deep.
I don’t carry a leather satchel full
of international newspapers
and I don’t listen to
talkback radio.

What I can express in words though
is simple and to the point.
I find your utter ambivalence toward me
as irritating as undercooked
chicken.