The day rolled on
unfolding like the toilet paper
he dropped and couldn’t catch
But he knew he could get it wound
back around without anyone noticing
perfection was his way of being
all of his expeditions capped
themselves in excellence
His slender fingers, smooth and agile
gentled the paper back around
he made no sound
no patterns noticed, no crumpled edges
it was perfection, done
His nose drank in the thick coffee scented air
awaiting his return
he licked his lips, remembering her brew
instead, only salt flavor
from his morning run
His name was Peter
Peter was from St.Petersburg
they met yesterday
Opening the door
the air was fresh
linen and dryer sheets
churning round and around
just like the day
to replace the roll
so carefully wound, he returned
to complete his agency
TP never looked so good,
he was proud
he was certain
she would never learn
of his transgression
But once a roll unrolls and rolls
there is no returning to perfection, ever
there will always be telltale signs
scars and scabs, wounds
When are we leaving?
I have a plane to catch later tonight?
He thought Tiger didn’t remember
A child playing with her emotions
she had already ordered the Uber
A modern chariot of escape
for both of them
The TP roll was a brick in his hand
something to throw at her
but it wouldn’t hurt
just frighten, then
he could leave
He could walk out the door
fly home, instead of seats
narrow, too close, no room
yes fly, Peter wanted to fly
Tiger wouldn’t know
miss his departure
unaware of his grace in takeoff
He will land with ease
and be free of her
cheap toilet paper
too thin, see through
She dropped the viperous coffee pot
losing what small promise of conversation
she had in balance
She would make him leave
Peter from St. Petersburg
telling him it was all his fault
unrolling the facts
not able to take them back
Da, was all she answered.
The coffee shouted
from cracks and corners
seeped and puddled
Leave. Just leave now,
Peter from St. Petersburg.
You are not welcome here.
And Peter from St. Petersburg
rolled out the door.
This is what happens when you write after midnight. Of course, toilet paper is on most everyone’s mind in this odd time in our lives.
The prompt from the NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo folks today, or should I say yesterday, was ridiculous in the most delightful way.
I simply went down the list and wrote to each prompt with as just a ridiculous story. Each stanza goes with each prompt in order (except for the name prompt which I used earlier in the poem.) But I like the last two stanzas.
Yes, I do.
Our (optional) prompt for today is one that we have used in past years, but which I love to come back to, because it so often takes me to new and unusual places, and results in fantastic poems. It’s called the “Twenty Little Poetry Projects,” and was originally developed by Jim Simmerman. The challenge is to use/do all of the following in the same poem. Of course, if you can’t fit all twenty projects into your poem, or a few of them get your poem going, that is just fine too!
- Begin the poem with a metaphor.
- Say something specific but utterly preposterous.
- Use at least one image for each of the five senses, either in succession or scattered randomly throughout the poem.
- Use one example of synesthesia (mixing the senses).
- Use the proper name of a person and the proper name of a place.
- Contradict something you said earlier in the poem.
- Change direction or digress from the last thing you said.
- Use a word (slang?) you’ve never seen in a poem.
- Use an example of false cause-effect logic.
- Use a piece of talk you’ve actually heard (preferably in dialect and/or which you don’t understand).
- Create a metaphor using the following construction: “The (adjective) (concrete noun) of (abstract noun) . . .”
- Use an image in such a way as to reverse its usual associative qualities.
- Make the persona or character in the poem do something he or she could not do in “real life.”
- Refer to yourself by nickname and in the third person.
- Write in the future tense, such that part of the poem seems to be a prediction.
- Modify a noun with an unlikely adjective.
- Make a declarative assertion that sounds convincing but that finally makes no sense.
- Use a phrase from a language other than English.
- Make a non-human object say or do something human (personification).
- Close the poem with a vivid image that makes no statement, but that “echoes” an image from earlier in the poem.