Poem: "Want Ad"
Nov. 20th, 2002 01:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ambitious_wench©E. Howe 1997
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The following is a poem I wrote one night, sitting at my local watering hole. I'd picked up one of those cheesy local papers, and out of boredom and desperation had perused the "Personals" section. Yeah, the catastrophy columns: "ISO WF21-22 for meaningful converstaion and hot sex. No fat chicks."
I was utterly disgusted with the pickings. I pulled out a pen, and filled out the form with the following:
"Have you felt
the unkindness of ravens
their dark
wings lending night
to the sky?
This mockingbird longs
to sing the songs
of a single exaltatious
lark".
I filled out the rest of the form, and promptly forgot it. I left it on the table when I left after my obligatory glass of wine. The next day I got a call. Another woman had found it, and was intrigued by it, and wanted to meet me.
We did, and she then politely told me that I wasn't her type.
But I did manage to get the paper back, and I think I still have the poem somewhere, written on cheap newsprint.
All rights reserved
The following is a poem I wrote one night, sitting at my local watering hole. I'd picked up one of those cheesy local papers, and out of boredom and desperation had perused the "Personals" section. Yeah, the catastrophy columns: "ISO WF21-22 for meaningful converstaion and hot sex. No fat chicks."
I was utterly disgusted with the pickings. I pulled out a pen, and filled out the form with the following:
"Have you felt
the unkindness of ravens
their dark
wings lending night
to the sky?
This mockingbird longs
to sing the songs
of a single exaltatious
lark".
I filled out the rest of the form, and promptly forgot it. I left it on the table when I left after my obligatory glass of wine. The next day I got a call. Another woman had found it, and was intrigued by it, and wanted to meet me.
We did, and she then politely told me that I wasn't her type.
But I did manage to get the paper back, and I think I still have the poem somewhere, written on cheap newsprint.