Tuesday, 9 March 2010

A few bits of hurriedly thought out poetry innit?

When my parents decided to exchange primordials for flesh, I wonder if they mused upon the flesh they would create?
Would it wish to swim like a fish Grandfather style?
Drink like a fish Uncle style?
Hide from dreams Mother style?
Make dreams Father style?

I was conceived as a result of a vodka ruse.
My father was making dreams Uncle Style.
Something from him swam Grandfather Style.
My Mother hid from dreams in her style several months later.

Genetics is my religion because I grew up to do all four.
There is a lot to be said for a good swimmer.

“Write me a poem about tea,” he said.
“Why?” I replied.
“Because I like tea and you said you might write me a poem.”
“But I don’t like tea,” I said.
“Meet me half way and I shall write you one about vodka.”

“Pass me a biro,” said my work collegue.
It was a flippant gesture as common as sleeping.
I passed her Galileo’s ill thought out invention and one hundred years of hard-core chemists’ blood, sweat and tears.
“Thanks,” she said.

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