Home The Tartan Tartan Poetry This Racket Seems to Like a Good Poem

This Racket Seems to Like a Good Poem

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First off, my poem only shuffled the

deck chairs of the digital. Perfect

pixel smear into e-waste. No geography

except streets, wires, toxic dumps, etc.

 

Like a modernist sympathizing battery

fire, my poem got sunburned by all these

transatlantic cables. My poem doesn’t

internet date. My poem yawns and retires.

 

I’d rather configure rain storms a drop at a

time. Or play Candy Crush. Same same.

As the sun sets across the English Bay oil

slick, I’d rather go for a coffee with you.

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