Plastic Plant Sundays

Not only I am writing more rhymed poetry, I'm getting into structure as well. This one, a poem I mentioned a long time ago, is a villanelle.

Plastic Plant Sundays

The blankness of the booth accuses me,
The other seat stares at me silently.

The blankness of the booth accuses me,
I stare at the plastic plant on the wall,
The other seat stares at me silently.

Ah, weekend sex for my mendacity—
I was more plastic than her plants that fall.
The blankness of the booth accuses me.

Sharing Sunday breakfast banality—
Later one Sunday, dish washing tears fall.
The other seat stares at me silently.

A young girl sits one booth over from me,
Her boyfriend-to-be toward the wall.
The blankness of the booth accuses me.

As I scribble, my eyes dart glancingly—
Her flushed cheeks silently take me in thrall.
The other seat stares at me silently.

She talks of "unused sexual energy".
Just like a woman—three words and you're small.
The blankness of the booth accuses me,
The other seat stares at me silently.

Posted by Chad Lundgren on Monday, September 23, 2002 (Link)

Comments

Posted by Roslee Wednesday, September 25, 2002 at 12:52 AM

Thank you for the poem. I would like to read a lot more. This poem nearly makes me weep.

Posted by Roslee Wednesday, September 25, 2002 at 01:05 AM

When I read this poem I am very much reminded of our talk Saturday night. I would like to get together and talk more late into the night. Craig & Wendy are teasing..just be forewarned.